


Guardian

by Staubengel



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: I seem to love bonding fictions, Kree headcanons, M/M, Peter won't be asleep all of the time!, Thanos is going on my nerves, aaaw ):, another bonding fiction, but this time Ronan is the main actor, headcanons in genereal, no smut this time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-13
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-26 05:07:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 21,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4991365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Staubengel/pseuds/Staubengel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ronan wakes up in the land of the dead and he is more than unhappy about being there. But there is a way for him to come back to the land of the living. A way that allows the Accuser to finish his task and protect Hala and his people. A way that involves Peter Quill...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Realm Of The Dead

**Author's Note:**

> A new work of mine!  
> I have too many ideas in my head and too little time and skill to write them all (at once) DX  
> Currently I'm working on this one and even though This Isn't Everything You Are isn't fully uploaded yet, I still want to start uploading this one here as well!  
> I hope you will enjoy it :)

Ronan was dead. He knew immediately when he opened his eyes. He knew because it was cold and empty and endless and he couldn't feel his own body anymore. But he was still there. Somehow. He could move, he breathed, he blinked. But what he breathed was no air and he didn't need it to stay alive anymore. This was the realm of the dead and he now belonged here, as he was dead himself. Torn apart by the Power Stone that this Star-Lord had directed against him together with the other _Guardians of the Galaxy_. “You said it yourself, bitch.” Hah. How ironic.

Ronan closed his eyes again and tried to figure out the situation. He was floating on his back in a void. There was nothing around him, there was nothing except him. Anywhere. Nothing and no one. He was alone. And he had failed. He hadn't destroyed Xandar; he had not avenged his fathers; had not brought justice to his people. Instead he had been defeated. By a singing and dancing Terran. Pitiful. Ridiculous. Humiliating. He, Ronan the Accuser, brought down by a mere distraction. After decades of training and battle, _this_ had been his doom. He would have laughed if he wasn’t so angry. Angry at that Terran for distracting him. Angry at himself for being distracted that easily. His fathers would ridicule him, cast him out. Speaking of which…

He opened his eyes again and looked around. Where were they? Wasn't he supposed to be with them? Them and the other dead Kree warriors? Or was he already cast out? Had Jonar decided to not let him enter La’aash, the land of the deceased? Was that even possible? He could understand that he wasn’t allowed to pass the doors to La’iar, the halls of the best, of the warriors, the defenders. But to be denied the access to the common lands? Had he failed so terribly? After all he had done for Hala and his ancestors?

He managed to move himself upright (or at least what he thought was upright) and looked around again. He couldn’t be all alone here. He had to be _somewhere_ and he hadn’t failed _that_ badly. He had still done a lot for the Kree Empire. At least La’aash should be open for him.

Yes, there. There was something. A figure. Only vague, nothing but a shadow, but it was undoubtedly humanoid, and it was moving. And there was another. And another over there. The shapes slowly became clearer and more defined. They seemed to be walking. Men, women, children. But they were no Kree. At least not all of them. Back there in the distance Ronan thought he saw one of his kin, but the others were different kinds of species. Yellow, red, black, white, pink, flesh-coloured. What in the universe…

Suddenly Ronan felt solid ground underneath his feet. He looked down but there was nothing, only his feet. Yet he was standing now, not floating anymore. And apparently he was naked. He looked around once more. All the other people here were dressed, why wasn’t he? They walked or ran around beside him, beneath him, above him, everywhere. There seemed to be hundreds of different levels, all invisible, all imaginary. It wasn’t crowded, there actually was plenty of space between the figures. Still Ronan could tell that there were thousands of them. Some of them walked in pairs or little groups, some of them, like Ronan, were alone.

After a moment Ronan discovered more Kree here and there, but he was still the only one without clothes. Why were there Kree here? Had they been cast out of La’aash too? Had they failed somehow as well? Ronan decided to go and ask them. He locked his eyes on the nearest Kree he had detected and moved towards them. He hurried to not lose them, but the Kree wasn’t moving. She was currently standing still, looking plainly into the void. She was wearing a simple black dress but no shoes. Odd. He approached her, stopping at her side. She hadn’t been on the same imaginary level as him, but now they stood on the same height. Ronan just took notice of it, but didn’t bother with trying to find an explanation.

“Where are we?” he asked. He didn’t see a need in greeting her, he never greeted anybody. He was used to being adressed with respect, normally people greeted _him._ And if they didn’t, they weren’t worth his effort.

The lady didn’t reply to him. She didn’t even seem to notice him, she just kept staring into the nothingness in front of her. Ronan frowned.

“Do you hear me?” he wanted to know. “I am talking to you.”

No reaction. Ronan growled in anger. Either this woman ignored him – which was outrageous enough – or she couldn’t hear him, which was even more frustrating.

“Where are we!” he shouted at her. “Answer me, you foul wench! Or I will –“

“Ronan the Accuser,” a voice behind him suddenly said. Ronan whirled around. What he saw left him speechless and bewildered. “I think we need to talk.”


	2. Explanations

A woman floated in front of him. She was huge, probably 3 metres tall, and she was almost entirely dark. Her skin and hair were black, but her eyes and lashes were completely white, as was her tongue. Her teeth and nails were also black. She was clad in many layers of loose clothes which wafted around her, together with her hair. Most of them were also black, some of them seemed to be of silver colour. Ronan didn’t have to ask to know who she was.

“I apologise,” she said. “I was busy with another guest. But now I have time for you.”

Her voice sounded full but low and soft, deep but still feminine. If Ronan had had any sense of beauty, he would have called her astonishing.

“Where am I?” he asked again, this time calmer. Yet he still was angry. Why had she let him wait? And why was he not in La’aash?

“You’re in my realm,” Lady Death answered him. “You are dead, Ronan.”

He knew that already. “Where are my people?” he went on asking. “Why am I not in La’aash?”

“You’re in an interworld,” she told him. “I haven’t made you noticeable yet, that’s why no one can hear or see you. But let me give you some clothes. You do not have to stand bare in front of me.”

Simple black clothes appeared on Ronan’s body: a shirt, pants, boots. They looked like the casual wear worn on Hala. Ronan frowned slightly.

“Why am I here?” he wanted to know. “What is this interworld?”

“You know,” Lady Death said, “some people do not believe in any specific worlds. Hel, Valhalla, La’aash, La’iar, Heaven, Hades, they are all just concepts of different traditions and religions. Some people don’t believe in anything like that. They stay here until they decide where to go. Some of them stay here forever.”

Ronan’s frown deepened. “Do you want to tell me there is no La’aash?”

“Oh, no, there is. All of the realms people believe in exist.”

“Then why am I not there?” Ronan asked in a harsh tone. “I do believe! Unlike –“ He wanted to gesture over at the female Kree he had tried to talk to, but she was gone. The scenery had changed while they had been talking, they now seemed to stand in a room with walls, a floor and a ceiling. No source of light was visible, yet it still wasn’t dark in the room.

Ronan began to turn really angry. This woman, Entity or not, had no right to treat him like this! He demanded answers, he demanded to be treated with respect and dignity, not to be messed around with like she did! He was still Ronan the Accuser, failure or not! How many fights he had won, how many enemies slain! This was no way to treat him!

“I know you do believe,” Lady Death spoke again. Ronan looked at her, his lower lip sticking out. A sign that things weren’t like he wanted them to be. “And believe me, in time you will be granted access to La’aash. Maybe La’iar, even. You can leave to there right away if you wish. But then you would never know why I kept you here and what we need to talk about.”

Ronan’s expression darkened. The Lady had stopped floating and was standing now, her hair and clothes had come to a rest and fell down smoothly, as if gravity was having a claim on them now. She appeared less bulky like that, yet not an inch smaller than before.

Ronan studied her ageless face for a while. “What do you want from me?” he then asked. “Why did you keep me in this interworld?”

She smiled slightly. “I knew you would be interested”, she said. Then her smile vanished. “I have an offer to make you. If you are not interested, nothing will happen. You will simply go to La’aash and will forget about this conversation. If you choose to accept… Well, we will see.”

Now Ronan was _really_ suspicious. Lady Death herself making him an offer? What kind of offer could that possibly be?

“What are we talking about?” he wanted to know.

She smiled again and gestured to the side. “Prepare to meet a special someone,” she said.


	3. An Offer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY HALLOWEEEEEEEN!! (\^,-,^/)

Ronan stared at the person that now appeared at the side of Lady Death. It was a woman, flesh-coloured and humanoid, and even though Ronan had never seen her before, she smiled at him. Ronan had never understood smiles and he didn’t return it, but that didn’t keep the woman from smiling ahead. She was small and thin, her hair a reddish blonde and slightly curled. He couldn’t quite tell which species she was, but from the clothes she was wearing, he figured that she was from a rather primitive planet. It was a dress with an odd pattern on it – flowers? It resembled flowers – and a pair of open shoes clad her feet.

She came towards Ronan and held both her hands out to him. Ronan instinctively drew back his arms.

“Who are you,” he asked. “What do you want from me.”

Her smile widened a little and she stopped, respecting Ronan’s wish to be kept untouched. At least she seemed to be reasonable.

“Ronan,” she addressed him. “I am sorry you have to deal with my issue.” So was he. “We haven’t met yet, but I know you. Kind of. And I think you know me too.”

Ronan knitted his brows together. “I’ve never seen you before,” he stated. Who was this woman? And why did Lady Death bring her to him?

“No, no, you haven’t,” she shook her head. “But you know my name. I am Meredith Quill.”

Ronan took a step back. Quill! Star-Lord’s name had been Quill! Peter. Peter Quill. Was she his wife? Had he killed her? Had Quill ruined his plan out of revenge? That other man at his side, the big one with the tattoos, he had kept on talking about his family Ronan had murdered. Was it the same with Star-Lord? Had he killed him to avenge her?

Meredith saw the expression on Ronan’s face and laughed softly. “No worries,” she said and raised her hands appeasingly. “I am not going to harm you or let any harm happen to you. I have no reason to.”

Ronan hated to admit it, but he had really gone into defence mode. Not because of her, she was weak, but apparently she had Lady Death on her side. And _she_ was more powerful than Ronan even dared to imagine.

“What do you want,” he repeated lowly. Was this a game? Some bad trick Lady Death was playing on him? Was this Thanos’s revenge for his betrayal?

“She is the one who offers you the deal,” Lady Death answered for Meredith. “Listen to her. You might be interested.”

Ronan looked back at the little woman with a frown. She wanted to offer him a deal? She? Him? What kind of madness was this? It had to be a punishment or a test.

“What deal?” he wanted to know. Yes, a test maybe. To see if he was worthy to enter La’iar. That was the only explanation.

“I offer you to go back,” Meredith said. Her smile had vanished, she looked earnest and severe now. “To the living. I offer you a second life, a second chance to serve your people, in whatever way you deem necessary. So probably a second chance to destroy Xandar and any other enemy of Hala you accuse.”

Ronan blinked in utter confusion. What? That was impossible! She couldn’t offer him another life! She couldn’t be serious! His lower lip trembled and he took another step back. She was insane. This was a trick. Was her real name even Quill? Or was this part of the game they were playing with him?

“She speaks the truth,” Lady Death intervened. “In fact, _I_ offer you a new life. In the body you left, with the soul and personality you had before you died from the hands of the Guardians of the Galaxy.” Meredith smiled at that name. “That’s your payment if you fulfill the task that is given to you.”

A trade. So that was the real deal. They wanted to lure him into taking this offer by giving him back what he had lost. Could that be true? No. It was still a test. But what was the right answer to it?

“What is the task?” he asked slowly. It couldn’t hurt to know. Maybe it was part of the riddle.

Meredith smiled again and placed her hands over her heart. “My son,” she said. “My little Star-Lord. You’ve met him. Peter.”

“Yes, I’ve met him…” Her son. Had he really killed this woman? If she was Quill’s mother, she probably was of Terra. He had never killed a Terran. Not knowingly, that was.

“I want you to look after him.” … What? “I want you to take care of my little Peter. To protect him. Watch over him. Be his guardian angel, his watchman. Save his life and you will get yours back. That is the deal.”

Ronan was baffled. He didn’t know what to say or to even think. He wasn’t so convinced anymore that this was a test. He wasn’t even sure anymore if this was _real_. Was he dreaming? No, he never dreamed. But this couldn’t be reality… It simply couldn’t.

“He’s in danger,” Lady Death took over again. “Thanos will be after him. After him and his favourite daughter Gamora. You must protect him at all costs.”

“…Why?” Ronan managed to say. That was all he could currently come up with.

“Because he will play a significant role in defeating Thanos,” Lady Death answered.

This confused Ronan even more. “I thought he was your lover,” he brought up.

Lady Death’s expression grew dark. “He’s not,” she negated. Suddenly her voice sounded dangerous and cold. “He is in love with me, yes, but I do not love him back. He’s about to unbalance the entire universe and wipe everything there ever was from existence. I cannot allow that. We Entities are here to keep the balance. So Thanos must be destroyed.”

“Then why don’t you destroy him yourself?” Ronan wanted to know.

“I can’t. I am not allowed to. I cannot interfere directly, I can only pull strings and hope that what I intended will happen.”

“And now you want to pull my strings,” Ronan stated.

Lady Death nodded as if this was completely okay, which Ronan definitely didn’t agree with. “Yes,” she confirmed. “I would take care of Peter Quill myself, but that is also not in my power. I can’t keep people from dying. I can only give you the ability to do so in my name.”

“If I agree to the deal,” Ronan reminded her that he hadn’t decided just yet.

“Correct,” she said. “If you don’t do it, we will ask someone else. There are plenty of people here who would love to get their life back.”

“Yet you asked me,” Ronan said.

“Yes,” she agreed. “You were involved in the whole situation, you know everything already. It saves time to choose you. Valuable time. Also you are strong and skilled and therefore ideal for our plan.”

Ronan snorted. Was she mocking him? He had failed his last mission, how could she casually remind him of that fact by letting him know that he should have succeeded, given his abilities? He started to feel like the two women were making fun of him.

“So you want Thanos to fail,” he began to sum it up, “to maintain the balance in the universe. And to make sure Thanos is brought down, you need Peter Quill to be safe. Since you cannot protect him yourself, you want to bestow me with the power to do so. And if I succeed, you want to give me back my life in return.”

Lady Death nodded. “As a reward,” she added. “But only the remaining years of your last life. Which would still be about 1 ½ times as many years as you already lived so far. Given that you wouldn’t be killed again.”

There. She was making fun of him again! Ronan frowned and pouted once more. Lady Death smiled softly.

“Don’t be angry at me for telling the truth, Accuser. You must all die, sooner or later. And you’re given the chance now to choose later over sooner. So what is your answer going to be?”

They both looked at him expectantly. No, the eyes of Meredith were pleading rather than expecting. Ronan had seen this look more than once on his enemies’s faces. Could this really be the truth? He only had to take care of this human and then he would get another chance to destroy Xandar? Now, when everyone thought him dead and wasn’t expecting him to come back? It was almost too easy… But he was already dead, so what had he to lose? Maybe the test to enter La’iar was to succeed here. So why not just give it a try? Things could only get better from here.

“I agree,” he said. “We have a deal.”


	4. A Simple Law

Peter Quill was currently asleep as Ronan appeared in his quarters. Well, he didn’t really appear there. He was still dead, so he was nothing more but a phantom, invisible untouchable, without a real body. He was merely _existing_. Lady Death had given him the shape of his old body, but even to Ronan himself it appeared to be transparent, weightless, nothing more than a ghost.

It took him a moment to figure out how to move. It was pretty much like walking, but also resembled floating a bit. After he had adjusted to that, he studied the sleeping figure on the bed.

“You need to develop a bond,” Lady Death had said. “The stronger the bond, the more you can do. In the beginning you won’t be able to do anything but keep objects from hurting him. But a Guardian with a really strong bond to his Protégé can influence their actions, up to moving their body like it were the Guardian’s own. If your bond grows strong enough, you will be able to guide him.”

“Why doesn’t his mother take care of him then?” Ronan had asked. “Surely their bond is already strong enough for that.”

“It’s _too_ strong,” she had answered. “The relationship between a mother and her child is incredibly powerful. Meredith would influence Peter too much, constantly. She would try to protect him too badly and could harm him with her actions instead. Also she is not skilled in combat. And there will come a time where Peter will need all your knowledge to survive.”

Then she had formed a bowl with her hands in front of Ronan’s face and had softly blown into them. Something had landed in his face, something light and prickling. Ronan had closed his eyes out of reflex and as he had opened them again, he had appeared here. In Peter Quill’s quarters.

The Terran was still sleeping. He was lying on his side, his mouth was standing a bit open, and he was drooling in his sleep. Ronan would have loved to kill him. There were so many possibilities. He could just willingly fail at his job and let Quill die at the hands of Thanos. Or he could try to develop that bond and then bring Quill to hurt himself. Both of these options were so tempting. Ronan felt anger rise in him, anger that this puny mortal had ended his life. And also at himself for having lost against Star-Lord and the others. But he projected this on the sleeping human right in front of him as well. It was all his fault. Yet he wouldn’t kill him. Not like that. He wanted revenge, oh yes. And he would get it. But differently. He would form the bond and protect Quill. And then, when he was back alive, he would destroy Xandar and avenge his people. After that he would hunt Quill down and smash his head in with his hammer. Revelling in the fear and terror of his victim and later bathe in his still warm blood. Yes. That was a far better revenge than to let someone else hurt him or to let Quill die at his own hands without knowing who had been behind it all. Also he wouldn’t be able to wipe out Xandar if he failed this mission. And he still wanted to do that. Hurting Thanos was a welcome bonus too.

A bond, then. Alright. How did you form a bond with your former enemy?

Ronan tried to remember everything he knew about Peter Quill. He was an outlaw, part of the Ravagers, and called himself Star-Lord. He seemed to be the leader of the Guardians of the Galaxy, a group with five members, among them Gamora, Thanos’s adopted daughter. He was the captain of an M-ship – or at least had been before the crash of the Dark Aster. Maybe his ship had been destroyed then as well – and if Ronan remembered correctly, it was blue and orange. He was sometimes wearing a helmet that also covered his face, probably to hide it and protect it, maybe also to be able to breathe in hostile surroundings. Also, apparently, he loved music and dancing. Dancing in fact seemed to be some form of war or battle for him. Or a tactic of distraction.

Ronan gritted his teeth. Maybe he should forget about his plan and split Star-Lord’s skull open right away. He really felt like that right now. But he couldn’t. It was impossible for him to hurt Quill at the moment. Even if he decided to let him die at Thanos’s or Quill’s own hands, he still needed to build up this bond to be able to make that happen. Otherwise he couldn’t influence the thief enough to even bring him there.

Alright. So back to business. It was probably best to just watch Quill for a while. Get used to his daily routine, watch him interact with the others, explore his lifestyle, his way of acting, talking and behaving. Usually this was a good way of getting to know someone. At least according to Ronan’s little experience in socialising.

He had never been one to enjoy company or being around others. He saw no need in it. Ronan had a simple point of view: Hala and its old traditions needed to be protected at all costs and Ronan was the executioner of this plain law. That was his only purpose, his only function. Other people either fit into Ronan’s ideals or they didn’t. If they did they were either his servants or his allies, if they didn’t they were an obstacle and to be killed, or – when killing was impossible, like in the case of the Kree emperor and the peace treaty with Xandar he had signed – to be ignored. Diplomacy, sympathy, politics, all that didn’t matter to Ronan. He didn’t even care about someone’s personality. People were nothing more than the function they had for him and his purpose. And right now, Quill had an important function for Ronan, because by saving Quill he would be able to defeat Thanos, destroy Xandar and then take revenge. With this, Hala and the Kree would be safe and treated like they deserved. And Ronan would have done his duty once more, would once more have fulfilled his task. That was worth swallowing his own pride and following the plan: Bonding with the sorry Terran that had defeated him.


	5. Trying Hard

A few hours later, Quill finally woke up. He yawned and rubbed his eyes as he sat up, scratched the back of his head and made a sleepy sound. He wasn’t wearing anything but shorts and Ronan immediately spotted the pale scars on his skin. He was used to seeing details with one look, he had been an A-class warrior his entire life. Seeing as much as possible as quickly as possible was essential to rate your foe and be able to battle them, to know your surroundings so you couldn’t be surprised by a sneak-attack or wouldn’t run into a trap. The Terran apparently had been in some battles and had been injured. Well, he surely wasn’t completely inexperienced. The Guardians had killed quite a few of Ronan’s men before they had reached him, Ronan wasn’t stupid. He knew his men would have battled them on their way to his secured bridge. Interesting.

He watched as Quill got out of bed and went over to the bathroom to wash himself and brush his teeth. Then the thief put on some clothes and ruffled his hair. This seemed to be his morning routine. No ritual, like Ronan had. It seemed like the Terran didn’t believe in any gods or traditions. At least none he praised visibly right in the morning. That displeased Ronan. People without a deity or higher instance often had no strict code, rules or guidelines they lived by. No morals. They were unpredictable and could be dangerous. You never knew what they were able to or up to next.

Looking around Quill’s quarters, it wasn’t really hard to tell that the thief didn’t seem to live by _any_ rules, religious or not. He was unorganised and slightly chaotic, not totally messy but definitely not keeping things in order. Clothes lay on the floor or hung over a chair, wrappers of eaten food piled on the too full bin, unfinished snacks and drinks could be spotted on the table, some guns lay right beside them or on the floor as well. It didn’t look uncomfortable, but very much lived in and not regularly taken care of. At least not more than necessary. Ronan didn’t like people who didn’t keep their things and belongings under close control. It showed sloppiness and a lack of self-discipline. Pathetic.

As Quill seemed to be confident with his current look, he left his room. Ronan of course followed him.

The ship was tiny. It seemed to be the M-ship Quill had owned before, or one very similar to it. How all of the Guardians fit in here was a riddle to Ronan. The ship was a lot smaller than the Dark Aster’s bridge alone had been. Well, it also looked exactly like that: Crowded. Stuff stood or lay everywhere, weapons, dishes, boxes, gear, tools, gadgets, tech, even a piece of clothing here and there. Ronan knew Gamora hadn’t taken any of her belongings with her from the Dark Aster, apart from her weapons, but apparently the Guardians had gotten new belongings by now. He doubted that all of the items belonged to Quill himself. How long had it been since his defeat on Xandar? How long did the Guardians live here together already?

Ronan looked around until he found an electronic device and checked the display. 10 days. He was already dead for 10 days! He wondered what had happened on Hala in this time. How they had reacted to his death. If there were still riots. If his people were alright.

With a dark expression on his face, he followed Quill into the kitchen.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gamora sat on the table as they entered, a mug in her green, slender hands. An empty plate was placed in front of her.

“Good morning,” Quill greeted her happily. “You’re up early.”

“You’re just late,” Gamora answered back in her usual slightly disrespectful tone.

Quill walked over to the counter to wash out a mug that was placed in the sink. “Am I? I didn’t see the others anywhere yet.”

“They are just even later than you.”

Quill grinned. Ronan took it that the two of them had formed some kind of friendship, as far as he understood what friendship was. He never had had any friends and had never been interested in it, but to him this looked like the careless trust people who liked each other seemed to develop.

“Even Drax?” he heard Quill ask.

“Rocket challenged him to a rematch,” Gamora explained.

This seemed to say it all, as Quill laughed. He filled his mug with a dark liquid and took a sip of it. “Still can’t cope that Drax beats him even though he cheats like a politician with a bag of cash in a strip club,” he giggled as he took something to eat out of the cooler.

“Cheating is not a fair way to win a game,” Gamora stated.

“Well, no,” Quill agreed and started to make himself breakfast. “That’s why it’s called cheating.”

Ronan almost couldn’t bear the irrelevance of this conversation. Did they always chatter like that? If yes, he now more than ever remembered why he didn’t like company. Casual talk seemed to be awful.

Gamora also rolled her eyes and shook her head. She seemed to be at least a bit more sane than Quill. Though the high hopes Ronan (and also Thanos) had once held in her had been proven wrong. How could she have betrayed them to team up with… this?

Quill finally sat down with his meal and started to dig in. Ronan watched him, studying his eating habits. He didn’t wolf it down or munched, yet it still didn’t look too appitising. He took huge bites and talked with his mouth full (they were still chatting about some entirely useless topic), sometimes taking sips of his beverage without bothering to swallow first.

This added up to the image Ronan already had developed of Quill: A guy who just did whatever he wanted, however he wanted, without caring about rules, morals, codes or conventions. He was rudimentary, following basic urges and needs, not serving a bigger purpose. Disgusting. And now he had obviously gathered some other lost creatures around him, some other thieves, outlaws, pirates who were exactly like him. People who thought that their little world was more important than the entire cosmos, that they were allowed to just run wild, doing whatever they felt like without facing any consequences. People too small to matter but taking advantage of that by messing with the authorities, with rules, laws and natural orders.

Ronan despised people like this. They were a thorn in his flesh. No, he didn’t always follow authorities or laws, but only because he followed an even bigger authority, a bigger plan, the ultimate law. These people weren’t. They were useless and were even proud of it, making it their profession. Enraging. Ronan wanted to put all of them back in their places.

When Quill was finished, he put the mug and the plates (also Gamora’s) into the sink and then said goodbye to the assassin, leaving the kitchen. Ronan followed him once more, back to his quarters where Quill brushed his teeth. At least he seemed to be reasonably hygienic. When he was done, he left his room again and walked back into the common area. He passed a weird device in the wall, covered with dark wood. Colourful stickers were glued on it and some buttons and modulators in shiny silver seemed to control the machine behind the wood. Quill reached out and pressed one of the buttons while walking past. Then he turned one of the knobs. A loud sound blasted out of the device all of a sudden. Ronan jumped and instinctively drew back a couple of steps. What by Jonar!

_Hey – hey – what’s the matter with your head? Yeah~_

Music. Right. Terran music. Something similar to this had played on Xandar as well. Quill had started to sing along to it. So this device was the source of this terrible noise. Horrible.

Ronan hated Terran music. On Hala, music served religious and traditional purpose. It was used to honour Jonar or to tell legends and epic tales of the past. But this… This was something else. Terran music seemed to tell minor stories or to give advices. Ronan remembered the words Quill had sung to him: “Things are gonna get easier. Things will get brighter.” And now this. Who had written these songs? Whom were they directed at? What was their purpose, what did their messages mean? They confused Ronan. And he hated to be clueless about something. Apparently to Quill they held some kind of amusing or entertaining function, as he began to hum along and move his body to the melody while proceeding towards the cockpit.

Ronan had never seen anything this strange. Or rather any _one_ this strange. He cast another glare at the annoyingly loud something there in the wall. Maybe he should give this music a deeper look, trying to understand what it was that Quill saw (or rather heard) in it. Maybe it would help him understand the Terran, would help him to build up that bond. Yes. He would try to listen to these messages. Confident in his new plan, the Kree left the common room to follow Quill into the cockpit. Who knew what the music was going to tell him about the Terran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanna mention that the "politician with a bag of cash in a strip club" was the idea of my beloved beta, Bonnie :P


	6. Giving Up

Terran music was horrible. It was the most useless and stupid thing Ronan had ever encountered. He had thought that the songs delivered messages or advice of at least moderate relevance (Assuming from the song Quill had sung to him. “Things are gonna get easier” seemed to be somewhat encouraging and fitting for almost any situation. Given that you liked things being easy.), but no. The messages were as pointless as a glass of water in an ocean. There for example was a song about a “Cherry Bomb”, a song about never having been to a particular land but liking some bugs, and a song about magic. O-ho-ho. Ronan hated that song in particular. Also what were Pina Coladas?! His mood was down to rock bottom. He just wanted to kill everything. If Quill seriously liked this nonsense, then it was worse with him than Ronan had expected. There was no way he would ever get a bond with that Terran. Ever.

Adding up to the terrible music was the behaviour of Quill himself. Not only was he humming along or sometimes even singing, no, it was something totally different that bothered Ronan the most:

The ship was currently flying somewhere in plain space, not close to any planets as it seemed. It had been running on autopilot, but Quill had turned it off to steer the ship himself. He seemed to enjoy that. He looked content with the music on and the control panel beneath his fingers, smiling softly as he looked at the starry void in front of him (when he was currently not singing). At least Ronan assumed that this was what Quill’s contentment looked like. People smiled when they were content, for all he knew. Also it just suited Quill and was very likely to please him. He was happy when he could steer a ship, flying it to wherever he wanted, being his own master, being free. Unlike Ronan, who only lived for his purpose, Quill seemed to live just for the sake of living. He enjoyed the simple things in life, found happiness in just roaming the universe, seeing what this day would bring to him. He had no plan, he just took things as they happened and then tried to make the best out of the situation.

And this was another reason to despise him. How could he be so egotistic. So careless. So _dumb._ He was wasting his life for nothing. He didn’t reach for anything, didn’t aim for anything, didn’t try to accomplish anything. He just existed. He thought being content was enough to give his life a meaning. How _pathetic!_ Ronan was deeply disgusted by the Terran’s way of living.

And yet he had to protect exactly this. Because apparently, Quill’s meaning came to him unintentionally: Defeating Thanos. The Kree had turned very angry at this realisation. He had struggled all his life to become the strongest and most powerful warrior Hala had to offer, he had trained for hundreds, _thousands_ of hours, had killed more enemies than he could count, had shed blood, sweat and in his weaker days even tears, just to serve his purpose. And Quill, who didn’t serve anyone but himself and his meaningless life, was granted with the opportunity to bring down the Mad Titan without even wanting it. He would be called a hero for having killed Thanos, yet he did neither intend to nor would he even actually _do_ it. It would be Ronan who would make Quill succeed, and yet the Terran would get all the glory. For doing _nothing._ For just sitting here and listening to _music!_

It was unbearable for Ronan. He was convinced that only the strongest survived in the universe, that you had to achieve something on your own, that you were rewarded for your efforts. According to his beliefs, Quill didn’t deserve anything, for he didn’t struggle or fight for anything. He was worthless. And yet he was happy and healthy and _alive_ and would be known as the saviour of the galaxy once more very soon. The _Guardian_ of the Galaxy. How outrageous!

And not only that. By now that filthy raccoon was awake too and had settled on the seat beside Quill. He had complained about the loud music, “blasting the shit that’s called morning right into my brain, man!”, but now was talking to the Terran in a very relaxed and amicable way, joking and snickering together with him. Ronan hated that chatty little mammal. He hated everything right now.

He really _tried_ to get Quill, but he couldn’t. And not only because his hatred and anger stood in his way. Also because he didn’t know where to grasp him. It seemed impossible. Lady Death had chosen him because of his combat skills, but he was completely helpless when dealing with empathy, sympathy and other interpersonal feelings. He had thought about asking Lady Death how exactly she imagined him to develop that stupid bond, but he didn’t know how to contact her. He was stuck here until she decided to contact _him._ Which apparently she didn’t deem necessary yet. Ronan hated her too.

“We should land on a planet soon,” he heard Quill say. “We need new supplies. Also it gets boring on here after a while.”

“Yeah,” the raccoon agreed. “I really feel like getting into some action again. Playing cards with Drax becomes lame.”

“You could always play with me,” Quill suggested.

“You? No way. You know that I’m cheating.”

Quill laughed. “So what? We can make it a cheating competition.”

“Oh, believe me, you’d lose,” the animal promised.

“Dream on,” Quill grinned. “I grew up with Ravagers.”

“It’s on then,” the vermin said. “Tonight, you and me, maybe some booze. I’ll skin ya.”

“Loser has to clean the loo,” Quill agreed. “ _After_ Drax was on it.”

“Whoa, whoa, easy there! Don’t do that to yourself.”

“I’m doing that to you, actually.”

The raccoon snorted. “Alright. Brought this on yourself then. Not gonna get you outa there later or help you with the cleaning.”

“I’ll use your tail to clean underneath the rim.”

Rocket growled loudly and Quill laughed. Ronan couldn’t take it anymore and left the cockpit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next one is gonna take a while, as I am busy with uni and life and stuff


	7. Forgotten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, the next chapter will take a while because I am currently working on my stuff for Staraccusemas and also christmas is coming along and uni is there and blah |D
> 
> Also on a general note: I appreciate each and every review you write me. I really, really do. Cause I know that a review means you actually took the time to not only read my stuff but also that my stuff moved you somehow and that you took even more time to write something down for me. This is still very stunning everytime it happens and I value each of your words. <3  
> BUT - and this is important for any review you write on any fanfic you read from any author here or anywhere else - please consider that I and also other authors are real human beings. Please be POLITE to them. Be NICE to them. No one forces you to read a story, so if you don't like it, stop reading it. Don't go to the author and rant at them or tell them you hate what they did. This will not change the story they wrote and the only effect it has is to make the author sad, hurt or angry. So please just don't do it. If there's anything you don't like in a fic, please tell the author in a CONSTRUCTIVE way. Make suggestions as to how to maybe improve it. Don't just say: "I hated that". Say: "This passage here seemed a little off to me because my interpretation of the character goes in another direction" or whatever. But ALWAYS remember that this is the AUTHOR'S story and that they can basically do whatever they want with it. So don't hate on anyone for writing what they like and how they like, please. Negative comments will only lead to a sad author who stops writing all together. So please be nice. Always. Thank you.

He spent some time in the machine room, away from Quill and the others to have his peace and calm down. It was terribly exhausting to spend so much time amongst daft pawns like them. But it was unavoidable. Developing a bond to Quill was his mission right now and he couldn’t fail. Not again. So he had to pull himself together.

As he came back from his definitely necessary alone-time, he found Quill and Gamora in the kitchen. They were moving along to a slow Terran song. Obviously it was dancing. Quill’s movements were smooth, fluent and rhythmical while Gamora’s looked more helpless and inexperienced. It seemed like Quill was teaching her. He held her hands to guide her, talked with her and sometimes they giggled. A wide smile was plastered on Quill’s face the entire time. Apparently he enjoyed the dancing lesson.

Ronan wondered whether he was in love was Gamora. He himself had no sense for beauty, but maybe Quill did. Or were they just close friends? Ronan couldn’t tell. Love, affection and friendship were unknown things to him and he couldn’t find the differences and borders between them. It was just one big ball of nonsense.

He took a seat and kept on watching them. Yes, he actually could sit, just as he could stand on solid ground. He could also touch things. But moving them was a bit tricky. He couldn’t move them himself, he could only make Quill move them if the bond was strong enough (which of course it wasn’t yet). But he himself had no power whatsoever. If he’d pull at a door, it wouldn’t open. So Ronan had to sit down on a chair that was already pulled back enough to make room for him. Otherwise he would have had to stand or sit on the table.

As he watched the couple, he couldn’t help but follow their movements with his eyes. It was strange. He knew that Gamora was an exceptionally good warrior, but her movements right now were a catastrophe. They had nothing in common with her battle skills and the fast and coordinated moves she was capable of there. Quill, on the other hand, was certainly not as skilled as Gamora when it came to battle, but his dancing was really good. It was as if the music was pulling strings on his body, as if melody and rhythm would move it for him. As if the music had the bond with Quill that Ronan needed to develop. Ronan became lost in this.

To him dancing was useless and nothing but a waste of time. But this perfect unison of Quill and the music was fascinating. It reminded him of himself in battle, moving along with the rhythm of the fight, swinging his weapon like a part of his own body, dancing a dance with his enemies. Only that his dance cost other people their lives.

He watched them as long as they danced, wondering whether Quill had learned it somewhere himself or whether it was a Terran thing to be able to dance like that. The dances of Kree culture were more raw and wild than the soft movements of the thief, they had their origins in battle and war and served to honour the Kree-god Jonar. Not everyone on Hala danced them, only the priests and servants of the Yellow Moon. Ronan himself had never danced before.

After a while the big, muscular moron entered the room. Ronan frowned in distaste. The one who had wanted to kill him because Ronan had murdered his family. Of course he had. He had killed hundreds, maybe _thousands_ of sorry minions like them. Who was this one man there to think he would take revenge on his family? No one had succeeded in taking revenge on Ronan. And neither would this guy have if Quill hadn’t helped him. Yet Ronan hated him for his brazenness. He shouldn’t even be alive anymore after Ronan had thrown him in the basin on Knowhere. How enraging.

The man – Drax was his name, as Ronan learned from Quill’s and Gamora’s reaction – attempted to care for dinner, so Quill and his friend (lover?) left the kitchen. Ronan got up to follow them.

On his way out, he passed the tattooed man who was currently inspecting the food supplies. Just as Ronan went past him, he took a step back, bumping into the former Accuser. But neither of them felt it. Ronan was like air to Drax. The man just passed through him, as if Ronan didn’t even exist. Ronan didn’t move. He was standing there, another body inside of his ghost-like silhouette, and was nothing but stunned. Stunned and angry. _Incredibly_ angry.

He wasn’t there. He was _nothing._ Other people _walked_ through him. This was the most humiliating thing Ronan had ever experienced. His entire life he had been important, because he had fought for it like a maniac. Ever since his childhood, since his _birth_ , he had struggled, trained and endured to become the Accuser, the big defender of his people, the strong and merciless warrior. He had spent _days_ without rest on only one exercise, he had bled, cried and suffered to make his way to the absolute top. Hala was hard and cruel, you had to basically sacrifice yourself to make it there. And he _had._ His father, his peers, his society, everyone had only measured him on his strength, his accomplishments, his success. Ronan had done _everything_ to become who he was. Who he had been. And now someone was _standing inside of him._ Not even caring. Not even _noticing._ Like he didn’t exist.

Fear struck Ronan. Fear of being worthless, pointless, unimportant. Of being forgotten. Like always, his fear immediately turned into anger. He had learned not to feel fear, fear made you weak. But this anger, this immense frustration he now felt, was so harsh that it crushed his heart with an ice cold fist. Forgotten. Unimportant. Worthless. No. Ronan wasn’t unimportant. He couldn’t be. Not after all he had done. All he had suffered and sacrificed.

Quickly he made his way over to the door and rushed out of the room. But his burning hatred and anger didn’t help. The cold feeling inside of him remained.


	8. Fears And Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And AGAIN I can't really say when the next chapter will be ready to upload :'D  
> But in case it will take two or more weeks:  
> Have happy holidays, an awesome christmas and enjoy the last weeks and days of the year <3  
> I love you all very much and thank you a lot for all your comments, reviews and kudos.  
> You are the most amazing readers and I thank you for all your support *huggles*
> 
> Oh, and btw, I uploaded a new Staraccuser fanfic as well ;)

He hid again to be alone. He couldn’t bare to be near someone else right now. He needed to be on his own.

He was so furious, so agitated that he couldn’t cope with it. He wanted to scream, to destroy something, kill someone, but he couldn’t. Nothing around him reacted to him. Even to objects he was nothing more than a ghost. A nothing. Not there.

Ronan remembered how his father had once told him that you were only worth as much as your biggest achievement. Your legacy. Ronan’s legacy had been supposed to be destroying Xandar. Avenging the Kree. Saving his people. But now he was nothing more than a defeated man with lost goals, a dead soul without an existence. And people stood in him. Walked through him. Didn’t know he was there.

Ronan had begun to train to become a warrior as soon as he had been able to understand his father’s orders. He quickly had learned that his only purpose in life was to serve his people and that no price was too high for that. He hadn’t played with other children, he had competed against them. He hadn’t been friends with other Kree, he had outdone them. He hadn’t loved or had been loved, he had struggled against and been valued for his achievements. Strength. Power. Might. That was all that had counted. And now… What had he come to… Nothing… Nothing he was…

He jerked as Quill suddenly entered the room. Ronan had thought that the Terran would spend the time til dinner somewhere with Gamora and had withdrawn himself into Quill’s quarters. But apparently the thief had other plans.

Ronan watched him as he sat down and pulled out a portable screen that he activated. He looked quite serious. He pressed his fingertip on the screen to let it scan his prints which granted him access to certain data. It was a secret. The other Guardians weren’t supposed to see. Ronan came closer, curious as to what Quill was up to. What was this file that he tried to hide away and only opened down here on his own, on his private screen, secured with his imprint?

The file opened and revealed a map of the quadrant. One spot was highlighted, its coordinates shown above it in small, bright letters. This seemed to be Quill’s goal. He tapped it with his finger and the spot grew to fill the whole screen. A planet. Quill tapped it again and the screen zoomed in. The thief swished over the picture until another high-lighted spot was to be seen that he then tapped again. The screen zoomed in once more. A city. With another marked spot. As the screen focused on it, Ronan could see that it was a facility, called “The Core”. It sounded like an establishment with too much alcohol and too little trustworthiness. But the screen showed a little symbol right beside the name. The universal sign for medical care. This facility seemed to be a hospital or something similar. Ronan frowned. What did Quill want from a hospital? And why weren’t his companions allowed to know?

Quill typed an order into the little computer which made the screen go back and show the surroundings of the little planet. It drew a line from the planet to a tiny spot that was called “Milano”. A number appeared over the line. A destination. The screen showed Quill how far away their ship currently was from The Core. If Ronan calculated the speed of the little M-ship correctly, they could make it there in around 5 hours. Interesting. Ronan assumed Quill would halt the ship and then go the rest of the way tomorrow. Otherwise they would arrive there during what seemed to be night-time for the Guardians (telling from the time Quill had gotten up and the fact that the warrior was currently making dinner in the kitchen). So tomorrow Ronan would know what exactly this “Core” was.

He looked at Quill. The Terran frowned deeply, looking tense and unhappy. Something about this location seemed to bother and unsettle him, yet he obviously wanted to go there. Or rather needed? Ronan became curious. He watched again as Quill closed the file and put the screen away and then followed him out of the room to see what he was up to. He was right. Quill entered the planets coordinates into the board-computer and then put the ship to a halt.


	9. An Experiment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is gonna be a long note.
> 
> First of all I'm sorry that it took so long for a new chapter to arrive.   
> I was busy with uni and real life and also my other Staraccuser fic "In The End" that I simply HAD to write.  
> But now I have it all written down and can focus on "Guardian" again more.  
> Also thanks to my awesome beta Bonnie for having betad so much over the weekend <3  
> I will try to update this fic again every (other) week.
> 
> Secondly I had to disable anonymous comments and I want you all to know why.  
> There is a guest-user on this site here called "Le Star-Lord".  
> All they are capable of is leaving mean, rude, disrespectful, creepy, weird and insulting comments on my and my friends' work.  
> They comment on our fanfics that include or are about other ships than Staraccuser and tell us how much those fics suck and that we should remove them.  
> Simply because it's not only Staraccuser.  
> Even when the fic mainly IS Staraccuser, but just features another side-pairing.  
> I honestly don't know why they even read fanfiction with ships they don't like, because we of course tagged the fics properly.  
> My fanfic was a oneshot of Ronan/Gamora, so there wasn't even any Staraccuser in there.   
> So why the hell did they read it, only to tell me they hate the ship?  
> I just don't know.  
> Long story short: I don't want them to be able to comment on my stories anymore.  
> But I want to tell them this: You are the most impolite and simply dumb piece of human trash I came across on here and I hate you.  
> You don't deserve to read my or my friends' or really any Staraccuser fic.  
> From now on, whenever I adress my readers to tell them how much I love them and their comments and all, it will automatically exclude you.  
> Because I am definitely NOT thankful that you read my fics or leave your shitty comments on them.  
> Kindly fuck off and go to hell.  
> And stay away from my friends.  
> Or really anybody.
> 
> The end.

“I found a planet where we can restock our supplies,” Quill announced after dinner. Ronan leaned in the doorway where he was in nobody’s way. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was terrified of someone walking through him again. He was glad that everyone was currently sitting at the table.

“Nice,” the raccoon commented. “Then let’s pay it a visit tomorrow and see what it’s got.”

“Yep. That’s the plan,” Quill confirmed. “Already saved the coordinates and all. We can be there tomorrow morning.”

Rocket nodded. The others seemed to be okay with it as well. They chatted a bit while Gamora collected the dishes and put them in the sink. The rest of the food was stored in the fridge.

“So!” the furry beast grinned. “I remember you challenging me to a duel, humie! Let’s get on with it! The loo wants a nice cleaning session!”

Quill laughed. Laughing. Ronan wasn’t used to laughing. He very seldom even was amused, let alone grinning or even laughing about something. Kree weren’t a very humorous race. Quill, however, sounded happy and excited when he laughed. There was something genuine about it, something pure and honest. Ronan squinted his eyes a little.

“I didn’t mention it myself cause I wanted to give you the chance to save your butt,” he said. “But if you really wanna go for it, then let’s have it.”

“Oh, saving my butt, alright,” Rocket smirked. “But _yours_ is gonna be sorry for everything it ever dumped into the toilet.”

Quill laughed again. He got up and got a little towel to wipe the table while his furry comrade organised a deck of cards. Then they sat opposite of each other at the table. Gamora left immediately (Ronan made room for her), but the muscular man and the little tree stayed in the kitchen to watch.

Ronan made his way over to the table as well to stand behind Quill. He had decided to use this opportunity to try and influence his Protégé. Maybe he could get him to play a certain card. He wasn’t sure whether it would work because he didn’t feel much of a connection yet. But who knew. Maybe he was lucky.

The raccoon dealt the cards. Ronan didn’t know which game they were playing, so he didn’t know whether Quill’s cards were good or not. He had never been one for games and didn’t really know any except for the really popular ones on Hala. Which weren’t many. The Kree weren’t a race which liked to play.

He just watched Quill for this round, trying to get behind the rules and goals. It was a bit confusing, even with his advanced analytic skills. Apparently Rocket won the first round, as he grinned and made a snarky remark while Quill assured him that he was just trying to make it more interesting by giving the vermin a head start. Ronan watched them for a second round. He double-checked the assumptions he had made the first round, corrected them if necessary, added some new. By the end of the third round, he was sure he knew fully how this game worked.

Contentedly he left his place behind Quill and walked over to his opponent to check his cards. They were quite good, but there was a weak point. If Quill played the right set of cards at the right moment, he could easily win. Ronan nodded to himself and made his way back to the Terran to stand behind him again. He would try to get him to play the right cards at the perfect time. … But how? How did he influence Quill? Did he just talk to him? Ronan had actually never tried to talk to Quill ever since he became this ghost. Could he hear him? But Lady Death had said that a Guardian with a strong bond to their Protégé could influence them to a point where they could move their bodies just like their own. This couldn’t be done by just talking to them. Did he have to – … Ronan tensed. No. No! He would _never_ try to move inside of Quill’s body! If this was the only way to control his body, Ronan would rather cancel this whole mission. He would never ever let this empty, hopeless feeling of being _nothing_ overcome him again. No matter what. Never again.

>Relax,< he thought to himself. >Calm down. Try talking to him first. Maybe there is another way.< But Ronan wasn’t good in relaxing. The panic transformed into anger and hatred, remained and lingered in the back of his head as he stepped closer towards Quill until he stood right behind him. >Talk to him. He will hear you. Just give it a try.<

Ronan waited a few more seconds until he was able to focus enough to think again. Then he leaned forward to Quill’s ear.

“Green Four,” he whispered. “Play the Green Four next.” Quill didn’t react. He looked at his cards and thought about which one to pick. “Play the Green Four,” Ronan repeated. Nothing. Did Quill even hear him? “Green Four! Pick the –“

Quill chose the Purple Five. Ronan growled. Either Quill did not hear him or he just didn’t listen to him. Both was enraging for Ronan.

“Black Eight,” he said, this time louder. “Play the Black Eight next.”

But even though Ronan repeated his order again and again, Quill picked the Yellow Two. Ronan became even more angry. That it wasn’t working was frustrating enough, but Ronan also feared that he indeed would have to move into Quill’s body and that was a thought most frightening to him.

Rocket picked the Red Six next. There. That was it. Quill had to play the Purple Eleven now or the raccoon would win this round.

“No,” Ronan hissed as Quill moved his fingers towards the Yellow Five. “Don’t pick that one. You will lose.” To his surprise, Quill hesitated. Was it really because of him? “The Purple Eleven,” Ronan said. “Pick that one. It will make you win.” Quill frowned. “Pick the Purple Eleven,” he repeated. “You will win this round if you choose it.”

Quill lowered his fingers. The raccoon smirked confidently.

“Give up, humie,” he advised. “You’ve already lost this round.”

“No, I haven’t,” Quill said and grabbed the Purple Eleven. He laid it down and looked at Rocket triumphantly. “Try to conquer that, pal.”

Rocket growled loudly. Quill grinned. Ronan frowned suspiciously. Had Quill picked this card because of him now or had he made this decision himself? And if he had picked it because of Ronan, why had he not reacted to the first two tries the Kree had made? Had something been different this time?

His analytic sense worked fast. He was trained in finding strategies, problems, weak spots, tactics and so on, so he could analyse very quickly and precisely. Something _had_ been different. He had told Quill _why_ he should pick the Purple Eleven. He had made it clear to him. Maybe that was the key. Or was it rather…

He frowned. He needed to test that. He waited til the raccoon was done spitting and cursing and had shuffled the cards anew. Then he walked over to him again to have a look at his deck. His cards were bad this time, but Rocket quickly found a solution by shifting them so that a bad card disappeared behind another one. He had one card less now. Clever, but very obvious. Quill noticed it immediately all by himself.

“Oi, Rocket!” he called. “You’re cheating. You only have ten cards, you’re supposed to have eleven.”

“Sorry, man, I forgot one.”

“No, no, no. I’ve counted while you dealt them, you had eleven. No picking a new one. Use your old card.”

Rocket growled but pulled the card back. He arranged it differently though so that he could now build a pair with it. That made his deck significantly better. Ronan smirked to himself and walked back over to Quill.

“Take the Blue Two first,” he said. Nothing else. He also didn’t repeat it. Quill picked the Red One first. Ronan nodded to himself. He waited for Rocket’s next move, then talked to Quill again.

“Take the Black Five. It will make Rocket angry if you use it.” Quill didn’t even hesitate to pick the Purple Eight. Alright. So telling him the purpose alone wasn’t the key. Ronan had already assumed that. Now he would test his other theory. .

When it was Quill’s turn again, he leaned forward and said: “There’s only one way to win. Pick the Blue Two, then the Yellow Nine and after that play your pair of Threes. Otherwise the vermin will win this round.” Quill hesitated. “The Blue Two first,” Ronan repeated. “I know it looks risky, but that’s your only chance. Do it. You need this to win.”

Quill picked the Blue Two. So it was really like Ronan had figured: His advice was only then heard when he told Quill about the necessity _and_ when it were to his advantage or major importance. Telling Quill to jump off a cliff because Ronan found it amusing wouldn’t work. Of course not. Ronan was meant to protect him. But maybe, when their bond would have grown stronger, Ronan could do different things with Quill. Things to Quill’s disadvantage. He liked that idea.

As he helped Quill to win the game, a more unpleasant thought still bothered him. There were things he couldn’t do just by talking. In a fight for example, it would take too long. Sometimes quick actions were necessary and explaining was out of the question. And for this it was probably unavoidable for Ronan to move Quill’s body in another way and influence his actions directly. He would yet have to figure out how to do that without having to face his greatest fear.


	10. A Nightly Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy late Valentine's Day, my darlings :3

Of course Rocket lost, since Ronan helped Quill through the next round as well. The animal was furious, but Quill only grinned and provoked him a bit further. Then he said goodnight and left for his quarters. Ronan followed him and waited while Quill brushed his teeth and got out of his clothes. Then the Terran lay down on his bed.

Ronan didn’t really know what to do now. Should he just sit here and wait until Quill would wake up? Should he try to find something to do? But what? There wasn’t much he could do, especially not as a ghost. Normally Ronan was good with just sitting somewhere and musing or thinking about anything. He didn’t need much to entertain himself. Thoughts were enough. But right now he was afraid to think. He was afraid the empty feeling would return. He needed distraction. Luckily this was the moment Quill began to talk.

“Hey, mom,” he said as he stared at the ceiling. Ronan frowned slightly. The Terran talked to his mother? She was dead. She couldn’t hear him. “I hope you were right and are okay where you are now.”

>She is,< Ronan thought.

“I don’t even know where you are, actually. Heaven, probably. If Heaven exists. I don’t know. I hope it does, somehow. But I’m also afraid, cause… if you’re there we won’t ever see each other again. Cause I definitely won’t go to Heaven…” He swallowed.

Ronan’s frown deepened. Quill seemed to have a strong connection to his mother. Kree normally hadn’t, at least not the male ones. Ronan hadn’t, that was for sure. Not that he hated or didn’t like his mother. She just wasn’t important to him. He had been raised and trained by his father. It was the male ancestors who were important in the society of the Kree, not the females. Maybe it was different on Terra.

Quill swallowed once more. His voice was shaky as he spoke again.

“Maybe tomorrow I will finally find him,” he said. “He didn’t come to pick me up like you said. But maybe I will get to him myself. Or at least find out who he is.”

>His father,< it struck Ronan. >He’s talking about his father.<

So that was what the clinic was for. Quill wanted to let them find out who his father was. That also explained the strong relationship with his mother. She was the only parent he had.

Normally Ronan didn’t know what pity was. He didn’t feel bad for others. People from lower ranks just had it worse than he himself, that was how the universe worked. Some were high and mighty, some low and weak. Ronan despised weak people.

But Quill wasn’t just someone. To Quill he needed to develop a bond. And imagining how it must feel to not know who your father was felt weird to Ronan. Kree highly identified themselves with their male ancestors and their bloodline. They gave you your rank and status. It was hard to work yourself up in society when you weren’t already born high. Ronan wouldn’t be where he was now had his father not trained him and paid for his education.

It was one thing to just be born low. But to not even know who your father was? Where you belonged? Yes, Quill was scum. Yes, he worked on that even more by being a thief and an outlaw. But he obviously suffered and tried to find his father. He wanted to change his fate. He hated being forlorn and alone. He wanted to find out where he came from. Ronan was pleased by that. Maybe even a bit impressed. Not that he liked Quill all of a sudden, he would still take revenge on him. But he had to admit that Quill’s wish found his sympathy.

“Wish me luck for tomorrow,” Quill said with a smile that looked overshadowed by pain and sadness. He apparently missed his mother a lot. “I’m really tired of searching and I – … There’s a lot I have to – … I have some questions I really want answered.” He swallowed and rubbed his eyes. Then he sighed. “I love you, mom. Goodnight. Wherever you are. Sleep well. If you sleep at all.”

>She doesn’t,< Ronan thought. But he didn’t say it out loud, he didn’t know whether Quill would hear it.

The thief closed his eyes and turned over to his side to curl up into a childlike position. Then he held still. Ronan watched him to analyse his breathing and eye movement. It took a while until the breathing had steadied and the blinking had stopped. Then Quill was asleep.

Ronan watched him for a while longer. He began to become interested in this man. He was odd. Completely different from Ronan and his ideals, from Hala, the Kree and their morals, ethics, traditions and beliefs. Yet there still was something about him that appealed to Ronan. He couldn’t quite grasp what it was, but it affected him in a way that made him want to find out more about the Terran. He was curious. Peter Quill was a mystery that Ronan wanted to solve. He wanted to understand why the outlaw began to interest him. He had accepted Quill as his new mission and he never only half-heartedly worked on a mission. Developing this bond had become a task he was looking forward to in all its complications and problems. He would master it. There was no challenge he couldn’t take. He would solve Quill, he would get him, he would master this bond and all that came with it.

Confident with himself, he sat on Quill’s chair and fixed a spot in front of him to concentrate. The whole night he just sat there and stared. The fears didn’t come to him because Ronan didn’t let them. He thought too doggedly about something else.


	11. Match Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A long one this time :)

The night seemed endless, but finally it did end and Quill woke up. Ronan had reached a point where he thought about his own mother and his childhood. He hadn’t seen her in years. He only knew that she was still alive. She lived alone, from what his father had left her and from what Ronan gave her. He wondered whether she missed him. Had she heard of his death? Was she sad to be all alone now, left by her husband _and_ her son? Had she wept?

From the corner of his eyes he noticed that Quill sat up and he turned his head to him. Quill still looked sleepy and had half lidded eyes that he now rubbed. He yawned once and got out of bed before he vanished into the bathroom. Ronan waited til he came back and had dressed. Then he followed him upstairs.

Quill was earlier today and Gamora wasn’t in the kitchen yet, so Quill grabbed his breakfast and took it with him into the cockpit. While he took a bite of his sandwich, he switched off the autopilot and checked the distance to the planet. It was already visible as a little spot far away. Ronan guessed it would take twenty minutes to arrive. Quill’s screen said 22.

Quill took a sip of his beverage and steered the ship towards the planet. He seemed tense, as far as Ronan could tell. He was probably nervous and excited because of the medical centre and his father. Maybe afraid. Ronan couldn’t quite recognize the difference. How would he feel in Quill’s situation? He didn’t know.

If Quill’s father turned out to be a disaster, an outlaw like his son, Quill’s life probably wouldn’t change much. If he was of a high rank, however, Quill’s own status would suddenly be different than before. Maybe he would then change something about his life. Or maybe he would ignore it. Ronan didn’t know what Quill’s plans were or what the Terran expected from finding his father. He had said something about questions. So maybe he just wanted some answers and the role of his father didn’t even mean anything to him. Whatever it was, Ronan would see. Maybe. If Quill was lucky enough to find out who his father was.

No one else appeared in the cockpit in the next 22 minutes. Not even in the few minutes that it took Quill to steer the ship to a landing place on the docks and bring it down safely. Only as he left the cockpit – Ronan following on his heels – the others came together. Rocket tried his best not to make Quill remember that he still had to clean the toilet.

“Are we all going?” he asked. “Or is someone guarding the ship?”

“Groot and Drax are,” Quill answered him. “You, Gamora and I will leave. But we’ll split up. You two go and get groceries, I’ll go and get information.”

Gamora frowned.

“On what?” the animal wanted to know. “The best booty in town?”

“For example,” Quill said. “Or where to go next, where to find a nice place to grab some food so that we don’t have to cook food ourselves tonight. Or where to find a good brush for cleaning loos.”

The vermin wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled. “Just do whatever. We’ll meet again here after we’re done.”

Quill nodded. “Sounds good to me. See you later then.”

“Are you sure you want to go alone?” Gamora asked. “I can come with you. Or Rocket can –“

“I’ll be fine,” Quill assured her with a smile. “You two go. I work better alone when I go hunt for information. Maybe I need to flirt with someone and I have no use for company for that.”

Gamora grimaced. “Fine,” she gave in. “Just take care of yourself.”

“I always take care of –“

“Don’t even try,” Gamora interrupted him. “I know better.”

Quill made a face. “I didn’t say I always do a good job,” he mumbled.

Gamora sighed, shook her head and left. Rocket shook his head as well and followed her.

Quill pouted slightly and grabbed his knapsack. He left the ship and Ronan followed him. Quill took a little device out of his pocket and activated it so that it would show him the way to the medical centre. Ronan looked around, taking care to not run into someone. Or rather to not let anyone run through him. He felt uncomfortable. When he had still been alive, he hadn’t cared to be in a crowd. People normally made way for him. Especially when he wore his armour and his huge war-hammer. But now people couldn’t see him. They wouldn’t make way for him, they would just walk through him. He was nothing to them. He wasn’t there…

Ronan felt hot, even though he had no physical body. He felt like things around him blurred, like everything was coming closer, narrowing down on him… He felt the urge to turn around and go back to the ship, hiding away in one of the rooms where no one was, where he was all alone and safe, where no one could touch him. But he couldn’t. He needed to follow Quill.

He tried to stay as close to him as possible, watching his surroundings attentively to be able to avoid contact. But the streets weren’t too full and no one got dangerously close to Ronan.

It took them 15 minutes to arrive at the centre. The building was big and white with round edges, a cold light shining through the windows from inside. This made it impossible to look inside while people could look outside without a problem. A popular technique to keep unwanted spectators away on many planets.

Quill hesitated in front of the entrance. He looked the building up and down, his hand grabbing the strap of his knapsack tighter. He seemed to be nervous and unsure. Ronan couldn’t blame him. Sometimes getting an answer to things you had wondered about was worse than staying unknowing. Sometimes the truth was more disappointing than what you could imagine.

After a while Quill took a deep breath and headed for the big door. Ronan followed him once again, making sure to keep his distance to other people around. Quill checked the screen in the entrance hall that told visitors where to find the department they were looking for. Then he walked over to the elevators.

Ronan frowned. Elevators were full, especially in a centre like this. He didn’t want to go in there. Such a tiny, crowded place. But Quill walked past the elevators to the stairs. Ronan was relieved. They had to go to the fourth floor and Ronan was surprised that Quill walked there. But maybe he needed some motion to work against his stress.

On the fourth floor the thief looked around and then decided to go left. Ronan followed him to the end of the hallway where Quill knocked at a door. “4-2E” the sign on the door read. “DNAnalysing”.

Ronan frowned slightly. He felt Quill’s nervousness, he saw how tense he was. They probably didn’t feel too different right now, both trying to push aside their fear.

The door slid open and a young Neeresh-woman greeted Quill. “Please come in,” she smiled. “What can we do for you?”

“Hi,” Quill smiled back and stepped into the room. Ronan quickly followed before the door could be closed on him. “I need a DNA scan. And some research. I need to find my father.”

The girl nodded. “I am sure we can help you out,” she said. “That shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Well, a lot of people already said that,” Quill replied. “The Xandarians couldn’t help me out and not even on Qui-nah I found an answer. They sent me over to Kinnn, but they were clueless too. They said if anyone could help me, it would be Dr. Aymeth. So…”

The girl’s expression became a lot more serious. She nodded slightly. “Please wait here,” she said lowly. “I will tell Dr. Aymeth that you’re here.”

Quill nodded. He went over to a chair and sat down while the girl left the room through a door on the side.

Ronan looked around the room. The equipment was extraordinary. And it was illegal. Some of the instruments were not allowed to be used in official medical and health centres, at least not without permission. And those permissions were hard to get, which made it unlikely that the instruments could be used anywhere as public as this facility. Ronan hadn’t really expected anything else, though. The building didn’t look shady from the outside and seemed to be well organised. But there were a lot of places in the universe that tried to escape the intergalactic rules and orders and it was clear that Quill wouldn’t go to official places with his problems. Official places didn’t help in such matters. It would take ages to find Quill’s father over official institutions due to permissions to enter databases and give out private information. But illegal places had no restrictions. They didn’t have to follow rules and guidelines. Getting information was easier here. Quill of course knew that, he was an outlaw. He probably never had visited an official medical centre in his life. Illegal centres like this didn’t only give away information freely, they also kept information to themselves. Outlaws weren’t in danger of being turned in to the law here. So the moment Quill had chosen to visit this centre, it had been clear to Ronan that it wasn’t legal, at least not completely.

He looked over to the thief. He sat on his chair, elbows on his knees and had the knuckles of his thumbs pressed against his lips. He was uncomfortable, Ronan could tell. He couldn’t blame him.

As the door opened again, Quill sat up straight. Dr. Aymeth entered the room, a tall Finghen. Finghen were a sex- and genderless species, so Ronan couldn’t tell whether they were a man or a woman. But Quill didn’t seem to care.

“Hi,” he said and got up. “Dr. Aymeth?”

The Finghen nodded. “Yes,” they replied. “Welcome. I heard you need my help?”

Quill nodded too. “Yeah… I need to find my father. But all my efforts have been in vain so far. No one could even tell what species he is. Not even Xandar.”

Dr. Aymeth seemed a bit surprised. “It will be a challenge then,” they said. “Let’s see what I can do for you. Would you please sit down there so I can scan your DNA?”

Quill nodded again and went over to one of the instruments. He sat down on a chair in the middle and the Neeresh-girl, who had followed Dr. Aymeth back into the room, went over to a monitor to activate the device. It didn’t take long to scan Quill’s DNA. The scanner beeped immediately. “Anomaly detected” flashed on the screen. Dr. Aymeth frowned.

“You’re half Terran,” they stated.

“Yeah,” Quill confirmed. “Question is what my other half consists of.”

“Hard to tell yet,” Dr. Aymeth said. “The computer can’t analyse it right away. It seems to be something rare.”

“Ancient,” Quill corrected them. “That’s what the Nova told me.”

“Ancient,” Dr. Aymeth repeated. “I see. Let me run your scan through our database. It’s the largest unofficial database there is, fed over years and years of research and data from hospitals, medical centres and health institutions all across the galaxy. If I can’t find out who your father is, I doubt anyone else can.”

Quill frowned, but nodded. “I’ve been already told that,” he said.

“It won’t take long,” Dr. Aymeth assured. Then they took out a chip from the computer and went back to the other room.

Ronan hesitated for a moment, but then followed them. He wanted to see what they did over there. The Neeresh-girl stayed with Quill.

Dr. Aymeth closed the door and went over to another computer. This room was much darker than the one Quill waited in. Without his advanced eyesight Ronan would have had trouble seeing anything. Dr. Aymeth fed the chip to the computer and typed in some orders. Then they waited. A few minutes later the computer beeped and flashed a message. “No fitting data could be found”. Dr. Aymeth nodded as if they had known already. They detached the screen from the device. Then they removed the chip. Ronan thought they would take it back next door with them, but instead they fed it to another computer and pressed a button. Then they went back to the other room.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Quill,” they apologised. “But the database didn’t find anything.” They handed him over the screen that still showed the message.

Quill took it with a sad expression on his face. His shoulders sagged down a little in disappointment. “Oh,” he just said.

“I am sorry,” Dr. Aymeth repeated. “Either your father really is too ancient to be saved in our databank or your Terran DNA has altered the other half of your DNA too much to be recognised. I can’t help you. And I’m afraid no one else can, either. My apologies.”

Quill nodded slightly, still looking at the screen. He was obviously very disappointed. His last hope had been shattered. He had so wanted to find out who his father was, whom his mother had loved so much, what he actually was. And apparently there was no way to ever find an answer to that.

Ronan was disappointed himself. He had been curious. But he wasn’t so convinced yet that there really was no answer to the question of Quill’s heritage. There still was this other computer Dr. Aymeth had activated. What for? And why didn’t they wait for its result?

He looked back at it. From where he stood he could see that it was running another search in a database. Why? Was it a different one? He came closer to the monitor and watched it work. Yes, it looked different than the one Dr. Aymeth had used before. What were they up to? He heard them talking to Quill in the other room, saying something about giving it another try and that Quill should come back again tomorrow. Was that it? Was this another try that just took longer? Ronan felt odd about it. Something was off here.

The screen suddenly flashed a message. “Match found”. Ronan frowned deeply and stepped closer. He couldn’t do anything with his body, so he couldn’t check the results. He would have to wait for Dr. Aymeth to come back and check them. There really was an answer to Quill’s question about who his father was. Or at least what he was. The database had found something.

He heard Quill say goodbye and leave the room. He should have followed him, but he couldn’t yet. He wanted to know what Dr. Aymeth did next.

The Finghen said something to their assistant and then came into the dark room Ronan waited in. “It already found something,” they said. “Quicker than I thought.”

Their assistant stood in the doorway while the doctor pressed a button on the computer. A window popped open.

“Let’s see, Mr. Quill,” the doctor mumbled.

Ronan stared at the screen. Impossible. What it showed was simply _impossible!_

Dr. Aymeth took a sharp breath. “My Gods,” they whispered. “This is worse than expected. Kila, call Thanos’s contact. Tell them Star-Lord is here and is waiting to be picked up. And tell them I have very interesting information for them.”


	12. Similarities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Teresa :D
> 
> ____________________________________
> 
> I WILL BE LEAVING FOR BERLIN NOW TO GO TO THE CIVIL WAR PREMIERE TOMORROW! PLEASE WISH ME LUCK SO I WILL GET AUTOGRAPHS! ;_;

Ronan ran. He ran as fast as he could, dashing through the hallways and floors, down the stairs, past the people. He had slipped out of the room together with Kila and now he needed to get to Quill, as fast as possible. He needed to warn him. But where was he? He couldn’t have come far yet, he still had to be around the centre somewhere. Probably on his way back downtown.

The centre lay on a hill with nothing else around. The way down to the city took five minutes. Ronan could make it in one.

He caught Quill on the way though, lopping along slowly. Good thing he was depressed and didn’t walk fast.

“Quill, you need to run,” Ronan told him. “Dr. Aymeth is on Thanos’s side. They just told him you’re here.” Quill stopped. “Run,” Ronan repeated. “Thanos will send his men over here to get you.” Quill turned around and stared at the building that lay only a few dozen metres behind him. “Run!”

“Shit,” Quill whispered. Then he began to run. Ronan followed after him.

It was harder to avoid people while running, but Ronan’s reflexes were fast. He made it to the Milano with Quill without having anyone running into him. Panting, Quill stumbled on board.

“Drax!” he called. “Drax, Groot! Are you there?”

“Of course we are,” came the answer from the kitchen. The tattooed man appeared in the doorway. “Is something wrong, my friend?”

“Gamora and Rocket,” Quill panted. “Are they already back?”

“Not yet,” Drax answered confusedly.

“Shit!” Quill turned around to storm out of the door again.

“No!” Ronan called after him. “There is no time! We need to leave immediately!”

But Quill didn’t listen to him. He already ran back into the city.

“Quill!” Ronan yelled and followed him. “Come back! There’s no time to get them! Thanos’s men will find you here! Come back!”

But Quill didn’t come back. He didn’t even hesitate to keep on running. Ronan growled in annoyance. This stupid Terran! What did he _do!_

Luckily the two missing Guardians weren’t too far away. They were already on their way back, big bags of groceries on their arms.

“What’s the matter, humie?” Rocket asked as soon as Quill stopped in front of them. “Missing us so badly?”

“I think I fucked up,” Quill managed to articulate even though he was still panting like crazy. “We need to leave.”

“What happened?” Gamora asked with a deep frown on her face.

“Not now. Explaining later. Leaving now,” Quill replied. He grabbed one of the bags from Gamora and started to run again. Gamora and Rocket exchanged a quick glance, then they ran after him. Ronan growled, but turned around and followed too. Why hadn’t Quill _listened_ to him!

They all stormed on board and Quill immediately hit the button to close the door. Then he hurried into the cockpit, the bag full of groceries still on his arms. Ronan ran after him. Quill slumped down on his seat, getting the ship ready to start in record time.

“What is wrong?” Gamora asked from the doorway. “Why do we need to leave so fast? I thought we were going to stay. We haven’t even refuelled the ship yet.”

“No time,” Quill answered. He was still out of breath. “We need to hurry. We will get fuel somewhere else.”

“Why?”

Quill grimaced, uncomfortable. “I might have fucked up,” he admitted. “Maybe. I’m not sure. Well, I _am_ pretty sure, but I don’t know why. It’s just a feeling.”

Gamora frowned. She opened her mouth to say something, but she was interrupted by a loud blasting sound.”

“Shit,” Quill gasped. “They already found us.”

“Who?” Gamora asked, tensing in alert and looking out of the window. “What’s happening, Peter?”

“Thanos,” Quill answered and manoeuvred the ship around. Gamora cursed and sat on the seat beside him.

“Rocket!” she yelled. “Get the guns ready! We’re under attack!”

“Already noticed!” the raccoon yelled back. “Loading the Clusterer! Keep them off us for a few more minutes!”

“On it!” Gamora confirmed. Then she grabbed the second device on the console. “You fly, I shoot,” she ordered. Quill only nodded.

The ship was already dashing through the sky, heading for open space. Little ships were swarming them, trying to corner the Milano. Gamora shot two of them down.

“How did they find us so fast?” Quill grunted while turning the ship to the left.

“Thanos has his men everywhere,” Gamora replied. “They were probably on alert the whole time, especially since Thanos is searching for us.”

Us. Her. Thanos was looking for his favourite daughter. If only to torture her to death himself.

“I shouldn’t have gone outside.”

“It’s not your fault,” Quill said. “It was mine.”

“We’ll talk about that later,” Gamora decided and shot another ship. Quill nodded and concentrated on his task. Ronan held onto the back of Quill’s seat to not be thrown through the entire cockpit.

“Ready!” Rocket shouted from downstairs after a while. “Let’s blow them to smithereens!”

“Got it!” Gamora called back. She pressed two buttons and flipped a switch. Then she hit a big red button. A whooshing sound could be heard and then dozens of tiny rockets shot out of the Milano. Each of them locked on a target and dashed towards it, leaving a trail of thick white smoke. Quill immediately pulled the ship up to fly out of the smoke, leaving it down beneath them. Then he hit full speed and dashed away.

They flew for a while, just trying to get away from the planet as quick as possible, without saying a word. No one was following them. They had left behind their pursuers. Finally, after they were sure no one was after them anymore, Quill activated the autopilot and took his hands off the console. He took a deep breath and leaned back in his seat, letting the air out with a long sigh. Gamora watched him with a questioning look on her face.

“I was at the medical centre,” Quill began to explain. “To let them check my DNA. I’ve been told they had the largest data bank in the galaxy. Thought they could find my father.”

Gamora sighed and her expression softened. “Peter,” she said.

Quill shook his head. “They sent me away. Telling me to come back tomorrow. But they just wanted us to stay on the planet so Thanos’s men could get us.”

“How did you know they were after us?” Gamora asked.

Quill shrugged. “I don’t know. It just occurred to me. Somehow it suddenly seemed completely logical. And I was right. I put us all in danger. We almost got caught because of me.”

Gamora reached out and placed her hand on Quill’s arm. “It’s alright,” she said softly. “You couldn’t know they would turn you in.”

“No. But I should have thought of it.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Peter. You just wanted to know who your father is.”

“And I didn’t get an answer. And probably never will now.”

Gamora stroked his arm with her thumb. “I am sorry,” she tried to comfort him. “But maybe some day you will.”

>Yes, you will,< Ronan thought. >Because I know it.<

Peter smiled sadly. He was still unhappy, but he didn’t want Gamora to worry anymore. …How did Ronan know that? The Kree frowned.

Gamora seemed to get the hint as well and took her hand away. “I’ll go talk to the others,” she said. “You take your time to set a new course and find out where to go now, alright?”

Quill nodded. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Sounds good.”

“Good.” Gamora got up and grabbed the bag from Quill’s lap before she went downstairs. Quill remained in his seat, staring somewhere in front of him. Ronan took the seat beside him that Gamora had sat in before. He sat sideways so he faced Quill. Pensively he studied his Protégé, trying to read his mind.

Quill’s dream was shattered. He was convinced now that he would never learn who his father was. The man his mother had loved. The mother he himself loved so much. Ronan wasn’t one for sentiment, but he understood Quill’s wish. He himself overly identified with his people and his heritage. How could he blame Quill for wanting to know where he came from? Where he belonged to?

Also Quill had said that he wanted to ask his father some questions which he now thought he would never get the chance to. But not only that. He had also put his friends in danger. They were like his family to him, like the Kree were to Ronan, his people, his kin. And Ronan had seen how extremely loyal Quill was to them. He had run back to get them, even though time had been short and fleeing immediately had been the better option. Loyalty. Belonging. Quill wasn’t so different from Ronan after all. He just belonged and was loyal to different people.

“You will find out who your father is,” Ronan promised. “I will show you.”

He had thought about it and telling Quill wouldn’t work. It was too absurd. Quill wouldn’t accept it as his own thought and therefore wouldn’t believe it. He needed to let him discover it himself.

He looked over to the control panel and then back to Quill. He would tell him where to head to find his father. That was all he could do right now. And if the data bank was right and the person it had shown really was Quill’s father, then they would be safe from Thanos there, too.

“Head to Tya,” he said. “It is a safe place. Thanos will not find you there. You and your friends will be secure there. Head to Tya.”

Quill stirred. He sighed and rubbed his eyes, sitting up straight again. Ronan watched as he put his hands back on the console and began to set Tya as the new destination. Then the Terran got up and walked out of the cockpit. Ronan stayed behind. Looking out of the window, he thought about Quill, himself and the surprising similarities he began to see between them.


	13. Gut-Feeling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my lovely Sintero for betaing this chapter <3  
> All mistakes still in here are on me XD

It took them until the next morning to arrive at Tya. Ronan had spent most of the time in the cockpit, looking outside, thinking. Sometimes one of the Guardians had come in to check the course or the autopilot. Quill sat on his seat for a while, staring outside too, just like Ronan.

Ronan had to admit that he didn’t mind Quill sitting there with him. It began to feel alright to be around him. It was part of the mission. When Quill was around him, he could see what he was up to. In fact, that was kind of calming. He didn’t have to worry about Quill getting in trouble somewhere. And as long as he was alone, he wasn’t even annoying or unnerving. Just sitting quietly there like that, he was actually pretty acceptable company. But as time went by, Quill had left to go to sleep and Ronan had spent the night alone in the cockpit.

He had enjoyed the silence, musing about what would happen once they arrived at Tya. How should he make Quill find his father? Was that even possible? Tya was a big planet, massive in fact, with at least 20 huge cities. All of them were the size of a small country with millions of inhabitants. It was nearly impossible to find a person there. But if the database was right, Quill’s father wouldn’t be hard to get a hand on. Not at all… The question rather, was if people there would allow them to find him. Or get close to him. Or if he himself would let them come close.

And how should Ronan make Quill even search for his father? It was so absurd. No sane person would ever think about trying to find this man. Especially not someone like Quill and the Guardians. It would be hard to set them on this man’s trail.

It gave Ronan enough material to think about during the night. In the late morning, when Tya was close enough to land, he had worked something out. If his plan went well, he would use this success to strengthen his bond with Quill immensely. Finding his father for him to finally unite them, fulfilling Quill’s enormous wish, would probably make his ability to influence the thief go up massively. At least that was what he hoped for.

He waited until Quill entered the cockpit to take over the steering devices himself again. He looked tired. Apparently he hadn’t slept very well. Ronan stood behind him, holding onto the backrest. He needed Quill to land in the right city. The capital. Otherwise they wouldn’t possibly make it to Quill’s father in time. So Ronan leaned forward, whispering into Quill’s ear.

“Land in Guryak,” he told him. “It’s the biggest city here. It is easy to go into hiding there for a while and also to get everything you might need. Including necessary information. Also Thanos will have a hard time should he come and search for you there. So Guryak is your best call.”

Quill was too tired, both physically and mentally, to even question Ronan’s suggestion. He set the course for Guryak and steered the ship towards it. Ronan remained behind him, looking out of the window. He was excited. This task was a key element of his mission; he wasn’t allowed to fail. And failing was easy here. Ronan was good in battle, more than good in fact, but everything else was critical. Too many things could go wrong. People were unpredictable. And Ronan wasn’t really skilled in interacting with people on a normal basis when not directly giving or receiving orders. Manipulating Quill to do the right thing for the next step of Ronan’s plan was hard for him. Quill was like a weapon that could backfire, block, break or run empty at any time and Ronan didn’t know how to react to this. But right now Quill was still acting according to plan, so all was well.

The raccoon joined them after a while, climbing on the seat beside Quill. “Where are we landing?” he wanted to know.

“Guryak,” Quill answered. His voice sounded raspy. He apparently felt as terrible as he looked.

“The capital?” Rocket asked. “You sure? Won’t Thanos have men there?”

“No,” Ronan said to Quill. “Tya is safe from Thanos. Especially Guryak. The government can’t be infiltrated. If there are spies or contacts, they will be found soon and eliminated.”

Quill sighed. “Guryak is a safe place for us right now. Trust me. Gut-feeling. It’ll be fine,” he said. That was all. He didn’t want to argue.

Rocket shrugged, obviously not convinced but accepting that Quill wasn’t up for any discussion. He would probably just go for: “I told you so!” if something should go wrong. But for now he remained quiet and let Quill do his thing.

The Terran steered the M-ship to Guryak and landed it on one of the docks. Ronan stepped back to give him enough space as he got up and left the cockpit together with the rodent. Then he followed the two downstairs.

Gamora, Drax and Groot awaited them, already armed. Except for the tree, of course. He was still smaller than he once had been, but already big enough again to leave the ship. He would probably accompany them, but he didn’t need any weapons. He was a weapon himself.

Gamora smiled at Quill who shot her a little smile back. But even to Ronan it wasn’t really convincing.

“Okay, boys and girls,” he addressed his comrades. “And Rockets and Groots. We’re heading out. Checking out the city, getting some information, acclimatising. Nothing big. No getting in trouble, no getting on anyone’s radar. Just getting an idea of where we are and what we’re doing next. Alright?”

Everyone nodded.

“Good. We’re splitting up. Gamora, Rocket, Groot, you go together. Drax goes with me. We’ll be meeting at the Milano again in 4 hours. Then we can have dinner and search for a nice place to sleep. Okay?”

“I am Groot,” the tree agreed.

“Thank you,” Quill replied, though Ronan didn’t know whether he even knew what his companion had said. “Alright. Off we go then. Let’s hope this city is nicer to us than the last one was.”

 

 


	14. The Palace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that it took me so long to upload a new chapter.  
> I promise you, this fic isn't abandoned!  
> It's just that normally I write with pen and paper, in uni or on the train, and that currently I don't have the time - and, honestly, the motivation - to type my writing down and let it be betad.  
> So while I still have some new chapters written, they're not really available right now.  
> But it's semester break soon and maybe then I will finally manage to type some stuff down!  
> Don't worry, this fic will definitely be finished! :)  
> Thank you all for your patience <3

Ronan followed Quill and the maniac. He was very content that Quill had chosen this idiot to accompany him, since this would make it easier to guide Quill in the right direction. Gamora or that rodent would have become suspicious too easily or asked too many questions.

Not that Ronan had an exact plan what to do. It had been a few years since his last visit on this planet. Things probably had changed, and the things that hadn’t he couldn’t all remember. It was a very young planet and mostly worked on its own, so the Kree Empire hadn’t really bothered with them. It was clear that the leader of the planet was not interested in any contracts or alliances and at the same time was not interested in warfare or colonisation either, so there was no need to try and form any kind of bond. They were neither a help nor a threat. He did remember the essential things though – or at least he hoped – and so he would try to get Quill to his father with the little knowledge he had left of this place.

He stayed as close to Quill as possible. Firstly, not to run into (quite literally) somebody, secondly, to be able to tell him where to go. Apparently saving Quill from Thanos’s men on the last planet they had been on had left quite a solid bond between Ronan and his Protégé already, as Quill now followed all of Ronan’s instructions without any trouble. He talked to Drax on the way, looked around, went to see something here and there. But without once taking a wrong turn, he went exactly the way Ronan wanted him to. Granted, it was one of the many huge main-roads leading to the center that they used, so it wasn’t a miracle that someone would walk that way. But still, there were dozens, if not hundreds of side streets, smaller main streets, alleys, crossings and places that could have made Quill choose another path.

The docks they had chosen to land at were close to the center, which had already been part of Ronan’s plan. The city was so gigantic that it had 20 docks, the closest to the center – the one they had landed at – was still a one hour walk away from it. But this city was so full of sights that it was easy to forget time. And even though Quill had ordered everyone to be back at the Milano after 4 hours, he didn’t seem to have a problem with walking such a distance without really knowing why. He didn’t know of Ronan’s plan after all.

Seeing how excited Quill got about all the foreign novelties around him made Ronan wonder though if he really kept Quill from doing something else by telling him where to go or whether Quill would have wandered around pointlessly without his guidance, just exploring things. Maybe he just followed Ronan’s orders because he didn’t have any better plans himself. But no, it was more than that; Ronan felt it. It was like guiding a child through a crowded place. It wanted to do other things that seemed more interesting, but in the end it would always follow its parents because it trusted them and knew their decision was the right one. Quill by now trusted the thoughts Ronan planted inside of his head. And so he followed them without further questioning.

After a good hour, Quill, Ronan and Drax finally arrived at the centre of the city. It was enormous. A huge, round place, several kilometres in diameter. Crossing it would take over another half an hour, probably. In its middle was a gigantic palace. That was it. Their destination.

While Quill and his companion stared at the huge building in awe, Ronan let his gaze wander. All around the place there stood guards in shining white armour. They wore helmets which resembled teardrops in their shape. Ronan nodded slightly. Just as he remembered, the entire planet, and Guryak especially, was a beacon of peaceful inner politics. There simply were no crimes: no burglary, no murder, no theft, no riots, no violence. The inhabitants here didn’t even think of anything like that. And for visitors who might have bad interests at heart, these guards existed. It was said that they felt dark intentions. Even the serious thought of doing something bad had them throw you out and ban you forever. Ronan wasn’t sure whether Rocket was even still around or whether the guards had already arrested him. He kind of hoped for the latter.

Quill, however, had no real intentions of doing something illegal at the moment. Ronan had made sure to tell him often enough that misbehaviour wasn’t tolerated here. But now he needed a new thought to come up in Quill’s mind. And for that he leaned in to talk to the Terran.

“Just look at this giant building,” he whispered. “Wouldn’t it be great to see it from the inside? Just imagine how it must look. Hundreds of rooms and hallways, doors and windows, halls and stairways. Imagine it. Don’t you want to see?”

He allowed a few seconds to pass to let the words sink in.

“Why don’t you get a bit closer? Maybe you can peek through one of the windows. Maybe you can get a glimpse of one of the rooms.”

It took a moment, but then Quill was set into motion. Slowly, hesitantly, he walked towards the building. Drax went with him. They had to walk for almost 10 minutes to even come close to the palace. 50 meters from the building, a line of shining white metal was embedded in the ground of light stone, surrounding the entire palace. It was hardly visible. Quill and Drax, still focussing on the palace, didn’t notice it. But Ronan knew it was there. This line was a barrier. It basically scanned your soul and only wanted people were allowed to cross it and enter the palace. Ronan had done this before. When he had been here those few years ago, it had been for an audience with the primary ruler of this planet. Ronan had been allowed to cross the line, since the spokesman he had accompanied had been awaited. But he had had to wait in the entry hall of the palace for his return. Maybe this time he would get to see some more of the building.

Normally people who came close to the line just bumped against a soft, invisible wall in the air and were denied access. Some kids loved to do this on purpose because they found it funny. At least they had done so when Ronan had been here. Today Ronan didn’t spot anyone willingly bump into the barrier. Good. This way Quill and Drax didn’t know what was awaiting them.

The line came closer. Quill’s eyes were still locked on the palace. Drax followed him without saying a word. He seemed to be just as fascinated as his friend. The line was now only 4 steps away. 3. 2. 1…

Ronan felt his dead heart racing. Was that even possible? Apparently. He was excited. This had to work, or his bond with Quill would maybe never be as strong as was needed. He _had_ to unite Quill with his father, he simply had to. There was no way this could fail. Clenching his fists in anticipation, Ronan watched the thief take the last step.

Drax bumped into the border. He was softly pushed back, blinking in confusion and looking first up and then down until he noticed the line in the ground. “Oh,” he said. “Seems we can’t get closer to –“

He looked up again, but the person he talked to didn’t hear him anymore. Quill had crossed the line and had entered the secure zone. He couldn’t hear what was going on on the other side of the line. Ronan took a relieved breath and followed him. He felt a trembling as he passed the line, but it didn’t hold him back.

Quill hadn’t noticed yet that Drax was missing and Ronan wanted it to stay that way so Quill wouldn’t turn back. But before he could even try to talk to his Protégé, two guards neared the Terran. Quill didn’t even notice them since they came from behind, until one of them touched his arm. Quill winced in shock.

“I didn’t do anything!” was the first thing he said. “And I didn’t plan on doing anything either!”

“The Creator felt your presence,” one of the guards informed him. He sounded calm but also distant and cold. “He wants to see you immediately.”

“Why?” Quill asked, confused. “I didn’t –“

He looked over his shoulder towards Drax. The man was screaming and hitting the invisible wall. As Peter’s eyes met his, he stopped. Then he nodded, turned around and left. Ronan was sure that he would contact the others to order them here and tell them what had happened. He would probably wait here for them. He might be daft, but he knew that he couldn’t help his friend right now. Good. Ronan didn’t need this moron around.

Quill was still arguing with the guards who were taking him with them towards the entrance of the palace. They didn’t really care about Quill’s blabbering. Ronan followed close behind them. The Creator wanted to see Quill. Excellent. Everything was going according to plan. Now he could only hope that things would turn out well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another reason why this fic is being updated so sporadically lately is because I use all of my energy on writing another fic atm.  
> It's a Spideypool-fic called "Room 418" and is written as a collab with amazing Sintero.  
> We would be happy to see you there if you want ^^


	15. Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loooook, a new chapter! After... almost one year :'D  
> I wrote this fic via pen and paper and was just too lazy to type down new chapters. Cause reading my own handwriting sucks. Shame on me u_U  
> I hope I will manage to keep this fic updated a little more regularly now.  
> Thanks to Sintero for betaing this chapter <3

The palace was just as stunning from the inside as it was from the outside. Everything was done in warm colours, from off-white to beige to light brown to gold.

Ronan, who came from Hala, where everything was dark and grey, immediately felt uncomfortable. Quill, however, stopped talking for a moment to have a look around. His mouth fell open a bit and his eyes grew wide. Ronan tried to keep his focus on the thief instead.

The guards didn't stop and guided Quill through the huge building unerringly. There really were hundreds of hallways, rooms and doors, but the guards knew their way. Not many people crossed their path. Despite its enormous size, the palace was quite empty. Or at least it seemed that way due to the large space it offered.

Quill was led right to the centre of the palace, the seat of the Creator. Ronan hadn't met him personally, but he knew very well who he was. And soon Quill would know too. He had stopped protesting and asking questions by now and had become completely quiet. Ronan practically felt him being tense and nervous on himself. He was the very same. If this went wrong, they had a huge problem. For a moment, he wondered whether it had been the right choice to bring Quill here. Maybe it would have been better to not let him enter the palace. But now it was too late. They already walked straight towards a big, white double door with golden knobs and ornaments.

Quill swallowed and leaned back a bit instinctively to be a tiny bit further away from the door. But, of course, that didn't help. The guards led him to the door and then through it into a big, brightly-lit room. The windows reached from the floor to the ceiling, which had a big, round window in the middle as well. Chairs, sofas, tables, shelves and boards furnished the room, but the chamber was so large that, despite all the furniture, it didn't look cramped.

Ronan quickly scanned all of his surroundings, the warrior in him analysing every detail. Quill had a quick look around as well, but then focused on the person behind the bulky desk that had gotten up as soon as the door had opened and now came around the big table. Ronan scanned them as well.

It was a man; tall, even taller than Ronan. He looked humanoid, his skin the colour of Quill's, his hair a darker shade of brown. But the resemblance was stunning. Quill really looked a lot like his father.

The man smiled. He seemed to shine from the inside, a warm, white light radiated around him. It gave him a distant and powerful vibe. Even Ronan felt like this man was above him. He hadn't felt like this for a long, long time, not even around Thanos.

“Peter,” the man said. “Can it be true? Is this really Peter Quill, legendary Star-Lord?”

Quill seemed to be completely taken aback. The guards had let go of him and now left, probably to take their position in front of the door. Ronan didn't pay much attention to them anymore. Instead, he focused on Quill and his father.

Quill didn't say a word. His father smiled even wider and came towards him now, one hand rising to touch the man in front of him. But Quill stepped back. His eyes were wide, his gaze was locked on the face of the tall figure coming towards him. He seemed to be in some sort of trance. Ronan didn't know whether he was just confused or knew exactly who was standing in front of him there.

“Peter,” the man repeated. He lowered his hand and stopped, respecting Quill's private space. “It is you, isn't it? It has to be. I see your mother in you.”

He smiled warmly, his head slightly tilting to the side. “Meredith. My beloved Meredith. I see her in your eyes. Yes, it has to be you. Her precious child. Peter Jason Quill. My son.”

Quill's eyes watered up. He pressed his lips together, his body trembling. He slightly shook his head.

His father nodded instead, laughing softly. “Yes, it is true. I am your father, Peter.” Quill still didn't say anything, so his father went on. “Oh, how long I've waited for this day,” he sighed.”To see my child. To see my little boy. You look so like your mother. She was the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

Quill's hand twitched. He finally set in motion, his jaw clenched. His father opened his arms with a smile, ready to wrap them around his long lost son. But Quill only punched him in the face. His fist hit his father's jaw, faster and harder than Ronan would have anticipated. The man's head flew to the side, though Ronan was sure it didn't hurt him in the least. He was, without a doubt, the most powerful being in the galaxy, even stronger than the Mad Titan. A mere punch wouldn't do him any damage.

“Don't you dare speak about her!” Quill shouted. “Don't you dare say her name! She is not 'your' Meredith, she never was! She is mine, if anything! Only mine!”

His father turned his head back towards him, staring at his son. His smile was gone. Ronan felt a tension in the atmosphere. But Quill wasn't done yet.

“ You weren't there when she suffered!” he screamed at his father. “You weren't there when she became ill! You didn't hold her hand when she couldn't sleep from the pain, when she was too weak to get up, when she had to basically live in the hospital! That was all me! Me, a seven-year-old child!  _ I  _ put on her favourite music when she couldn't sleep at night,  _ I  _ cooked her favourite dish when she hurt so much that she couldn't leave her bed! I was there when she spoke about you, I was there when she died! But you weren't! You abandoned her! You left her alone! She loved you so much, she never said any bad word about you, not one! Not one bad word about the man who knocked her up and then left to never return! Left her alone with her child and then with her sickness! You didn't see me growing up! You didn't watch my first steps or hear my first word! You weren't there when I first went to school, when I came home every afternoon, when I needed someone to talk to! You simply weren't there! You think I came here to see you? I came here to tell you that I hate you! I despise you! I want you to drop dead right in front of me, right now! You are not my father! I am not your son! Even Yondu was more of a father to me than you ever were! You do not deserve my mother! You do not deserve  _ me!  _ And if I only could, I would kick your stupid ass so hard that it would send you straight to Bacooda!”

Now he was done. His chest was heaving from heavy, excited breaths, his cheeks were wet from tears of anger, pain and long suppressed emotions he hadn't even known he had.

Ronan was stunned. He hadn't expected all this to burst out of Peter. He hadn't known all this. Peter hadn't only grown up without a father, he had also grown up without a mother. He had had to take care of her more than she had taken care of him, at least in the later years of her life. He had acted as a grown-up very early already to protect his sick mother and to help her out.

On Hala, children without a father already were doomed. Since the war with Xandar, it wasn't uncommon that children lost their father at a young age and that they were only raised by her mother. If their father had been a high-ranked warrior, there was enough money in their account and a secure enough position in society to raise the child properly and make sure it would grow up to take its place on Hala. If the child was of lower ranks, it was maybe lucky to be integrated into the war-program and be trained in the open arenas and caserns. Otherwise, too many potential soldiers could be lost right away.

But a child of as low a state as Peter Quill? No. Those children had no chance. If their father hadn't already had a name, rank, status or function, it was impossible for them to achieve that on their own. It was even worse when their father hadn't died but had simply left the family, like in Peter's case. Being left by her husband meant complete disgrace for a Kree woman. She was now considered used, taken, already in possession and no other man would marry her again, if he didn't want to lose all respect he might have in society.

But Peter's parents hadn't even been married. Which was highly illegal on Hala. Meredith Quill would have been the lowest of the lowest, a woman with a child but without a husband, her father probably of a low rank. No one on Hala would have cared for her or her child.

As soon as a Kree woman was married, she wasn't of her father's concern anymore, but belonged to her husband. Of course, marriage was used to bring mighty families of high ranks together and to form alliances, but technically, the wife was now her husband's duty, her father had no right concerning her anymore. If a woman got a child without being married, it was only natural to cast her out. She was of no use anymore. She couldn't be married and, even worse, she brought shame on her family. No one would help her with a child. No one would help her with a sickness. On Hala, Peter's mother would have died alone and unwanted and Peter would have been just as alone and unwanted after that. He would have spent the rest of his childhood in an orphanage until someone needed a low worker or servant and would then have been hired by someone. That would have been it.

But Peter wasn't from Hala. He was from Terra. And he had fought for his mother. He had taken care of her, he had helped her, valued and loved her. More than Ronan had ever done for his own mother, and she was of a high rank and completely honourable and healthy. Peter hadn't cared about his mother's breaches and flaws. Peter had loved his mother. More than could ever be said.

And not only that. Even when Yondu had abducted and raised him as a Ravager, Peter had still kept on fighting. This time not for his mother, but for himself. He hadn't given in to Yondu, hadn't accepted him as his superior. He had stayed himself, he had turned into his own man. He even had left Yondu by now and was free. Free from everything and everyone who had tried to shape him, suppress him, make him small, use him for themselves. He had risen against every system and had fought his way out of his fate. He had taken it into his own hands. Ronan was in awe.

He had thought that Peter stood for everything Ronan hated: A low rank, weakness, rebellion, anarchy, lawlessness. But he had been so wrong. Peter wasn't weak. He was incredibly strong. He had fought against his low rank and all the stigma that came with it, had fought off all the restrictions he had encountered and had made the best out of his life. In his own way, he had worked his way up: From an orphan, bastard of a sick woman of low rank, to a free man that was nobody's subordinate. He probably had struggled and suffered just as much as Ronan to find his place and defend it.

Only that Ronan had known what to fight for, where he wanted to get to and how hard it was to achieve that rank. Peter had just fought for as long as he had to to get anywhere at all. Anywhere that was better than where he had been before. Ronan admired this strength and willpower more than he wanted to admit to himself. How could he ever have despised his Protégé? He needed to help him and protect him at all costs.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I typed this down after watching GOTG2 and realised just... how much better than the canon version I think my own "Peter meets his dad"-scenario actually is :'D  
> You know... real emotions and anger and frustration.  
> Not "Hey dad, let's play ball!!1!1!!!! I forgot I'm angry with you!!1!!11!!1! :)))"  
> I know this sounds really full of myself.  
> But I just find the canon scenario really bad |D


	16. Revelations #2

Peter's father now reacted to his son's loud monologue. His lips slowly curled up into a smile and then he even laughed softly and shook his head.

“You are so like your mother,” he said. “So good and strong and with such a pure heart. She would be so proud of you.”

Peter sobbed lowly and took a step back. “Don't you dare talk about her like that,” he repeated. “All loving and caring like that! If you loved her so much, why did you leave her? Why did you let her die alone, missing you till her very last heartbeat?”

His father's smile froze, but he kept it up. He obviously didn't like the hateful tone Peter used towards him. Ronan wondered how long it would take till he would snap. Maybe he should try to calm his Protégé down, for his own sake.

“My dear son,” the Creator began. Peter snorted and gritted his teeth, but didn't interrupt. “I think I have to explain a lot to make you understand. Why don't you take a seat?”

But Peter didn't even make an attempt to move to one of the chairs or even the sofas in the back of the room. He stayed where he was, hostilely staring at his father. The man sighed softly and made his way to the huge window opposite the entrance door. Peter followed him with his eyes, but didn't move an inch.

“Guryak,” his father started, “is the capital of Tya. It is my city. And Tya is my planet. All of it, every inhabitant, every resource, belongs to me.”

Peter made a disapproving sound. Ronan knew exactly what he thought. He despised the statement of his father that any person belonged to anyone. But the man didn't let himself be bothered by that and went on.

“I did not only found Tya or take it over,” he explained. “I  _ created _ it. I made this entire planet, built it with my very own hands. That was over 30 years ago. Shortly after I left your mother.” Peter swallowed hard. “In fact, I met her when I travelled the universe to collect ideas for my own planet, my own world. Searching for a good place to build it, studying many different species, races, societies, cultures and people to see how I wanted my own planet to be. And she showed me so much. Meredith was an exceptional woman. You may not know it, but she inspired a lot of Tya. But maybe for that, you need to know what Tya even stands for.”

He smiled smugly while he looked down at the city beneath his window. Peter still didn't move.

“Tya is the safest planet in the entire universe. My Guiders detect badness before it can be executed and take captive whoever becomes a threat to the people of this planet. They are cast out never to return. Nothing bad or evil is able to gain ground here. Nothing. This planet is a beacon of goodness and safety. I am sure your mother would have loved it.” Peter frowned deeply, but didn't answer. “She, of course, knew of my idea. She was fascinated by it, she loved it so much. Maybe just as much as I myself. She wanted to come here, wanted to see it. And I promised her I would take her here, as soon as it was done. But for that, I first had to leave her again. I promised I would return to her, as soon as I could. She knew I would leave, she knew what for and she approved of it. So I left. I created Tya, it took some years. I knew she was pregnant, I knew it the day I left a bit of myself inside of her that later would grow into you. And I couldn't wait to get her and our child to live with me on my perfect planet, to have you raised in perfect harmony and safety, without any evil or fear.”

He sighed heavily. Peter had closed his hands into fists, his knuckles appeared white under his flesh and skin.

“But I was too late,” his father continued. “Your mother had died- And you I never got to see. Yondu Udonta just kept you instead of delivering you to me. So I didn't get to meet you until now.”

Peter had tensed at Yondu's name and now stared at his father in disbelief. He obviously hadn't known that Yondu had been hired to bring Peter to his father. Ronan didn't know what else Yondu had told him over all those years.

“I couldn't leave Tya myself,” Peter's father went on. “The planet was still growing, it still needed me. Of course, it broke my heart to hear that your mother had gotten sick and that it had cost her her life. But I knew she shared my dream and wouldn't want me to give it all up. This was so much bigger than us, so much bigger than anything. I knew she would understand. So I hope you can understand as well.”

Peter's chest was heaving, he was breathing heavily. He was pale, his eyes were glassy.

“Maybe you wonder how I was even able to build an entire planet.” The man smiled again, as if this was the point of his entire story. “Actually, it is a very simple circumstance that gives me the might to do so. My parentage, to be exact.”

He raised his head, straightening his back. The light radiating from him grew a bit brighter.

“I am one of the very, very Arisen. I only have one sister and one brother. So far. We are children of the four Entities Death, Eternity, Infinity and Entropy. The two latter are my parents. The Entities fight each other, they balance each other, are a big One. And I am a child of one of their bonds.”

He turned around again to look at his son. Peter seemed to just look through him. Ronan wasn't sure whether he even had listened to the last words of his father. He still seemed to work on Yondu and also what he had heard about his mother. Ronan had known about the nature of Peter's father, that he was a child of Entities and the creator of Guryak and Tya, and also how his planet worked. To Peter, this was all new, but he didn't even really seem to care. At least not right now. The story about his beloved mother was so much more important to him.

Ronan understood that, he by now knew quite well how Peter worked and that his mother was his first priority. His father, though, seemed to be a bit miffed that his son didn't care too much about the big reveal of what he was and about how glorious he thought his planet to be.

The big smile on his face disappeared. For a split second, Ronan thought the light around him had vanished, but in the next moment, it was there again, just not as bright anymore as it had been before. He came towards Peter, who only snapped out of his trance as his father stood right in front of him, and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“You must be tired,” he said. “Why don't you lie down and sleep for a bit? I will let the Guiders escort you to a room where you will have a bed and your own bathroom and will let them bring you some food so you can rest well and strengthen yourself afterwards. We can talk some more when you feel better.”

Peter sighed lowly. He really looked very tired. The anger had left him, his shoulders had dropped, he stood less upright. He looked defeated. But he still shook his head.

“Thanks,” he replied. “But I wanna go back to my own ship and sleep there. I have a lot to think about and I want to do it anywhere else but here.”

>His friends,< Ronan thought. >He didn't mention them. He wants to protect them from him.< Again, his respect for Peter grew.

His father, however, wasn't too pleased about his son's excuse. He grabbed Peter's shoulder slightly tighter, the smile he had put up again turned a little harder.

“I don't think that is a good idea, my son. It is better not to wander too far in your condition. Let me and my men take care of you. Also, I don't think we're finished here yet. I am sure there is a lot more we should talk about.”

Peter looked up to stare with open hostility at the man in front of him. “I don't think there is,” he growled with gritted teeth.

His father only smiled a bit wider – but no less hard – and shook Peter ever so slightly. “There is,” he determined.

The door opened and four Guiders entered the room, probably on a silent order from their leader.

“My son needs rest,” he told them. “Guide him to his room and make sure he has everything he needs. I will talk to him again as soon as he feels better.”

He let go of Peter's shoulder and the Guiders took him between them. They didn't touch him, but nevertheless, it looked threatening. Peter glared at his father with pure hatred.

“Mum was wrong,” he claimed. “I'm nothing like you. And by now I wish I had never found you. You're not my father. You're just a dick.”

The smile of his father turned into a grimace. Peter turned around and let the Guiders escort him out of the room.

“Sleep well, my son,” his father called after him.

Ronan would have loved to take him down, but of course, he couldn't. Instead, he had to watch how Peter's shoulders stiffened and his jaw clenched as he left the room, but he didn't answer back. Ronan followed after him to not be separated from him. Whatever happened now, he was sure that Peter needed his Guardian close by.


End file.
